Thai/Tie Pun II: El(i)es and Wats' Wat

After a two month hiatus from blogging, I am returning with recollections--recollections of the two month hiatus from blogging. I do not feel like my vacation was a "whirlwind" or that it "flew by." Actually, eight weeks of vacation feels exactly like eight weeks of vacation when entire weeks are defined by a specific activity, reunions, and locations. This is the fourth and final entry of journal "highlights"--here is the first entry, the second entry, and the third entry (which was the first half of my time in Thailand). These are excerpts from what I wrote while I was in or around Chiang Mai and Cambodia. Hereafter, I promise my blog's contents will shift from personal journal regurgitation.

Eyes of the ele

***

01/28

I slept terribly last night; I woke repeatedly to mosquitoes biting my face. At least they weren't bed bugs.

Our cubby in our train car sleeps four passengers. Coincidentally, I bump into a fellow alum from my childhood summer camp--he sleeps two-cubbies-down.

01/29

"Good morneen," the car manager calls as she walks the aisle. "Brekfest fifteen minoots."

I slide open my lower berth's curtains. The air-con reasserts its unforgettable presence without the poor shield that was the curtain; I've been freezing for the nearly nine hours of Benadryl-clouded sleep. At some point in the night, I wake to put on my flannel; the cotton blanket does not match the pillow in comfort-level. 

While eating my rice soup with chicken, I join our cubby's roommates (a body-odor-plagued French couple) in watching the hills covered in tropical forest--not quite rainforest. We rumble past a pineapple orchard, and I wonder if I'm not stationary while everything crashes past.

Thai/Tie Pun.

After a two month hiatus from blogging, I am returning with recollections--recollections of the two month hiatus from blogging. I do not feel like my vacation was a "whirlwind" or that it "flew by." Actually, eight weeks of vacation feels exactly like eight weeks of vacation when entire weeks are defined by a specific activity, reunions, and locations. This is the second entry of journal "highlights"--here is the first entry and the second entry. These are excerpts from what I wrote while I was in Thailand's south and Bangkok. More soon, friends and family!

Thai style

***
 
01/17
 
I watch the sunset beyond the backside of the wings. Because of visa restrictions and unexpected inquiries at the ticket desk in Hawaii, I'm not even sure that I can enter Thailand without an onward ticket--I just have the plan to walk across the border to Cambodia.

After reading last year's journal entries, I begin a line of questioning about my direction and my context. I come to a conclusion that I do not feel lost, but I am certainly not feeling as engaged in my daily life as I would like to be.

Winter Movement(s)

黄晶晶 (Huang Jingjing): "Elie, you are American. Yes?"
阿里 (Ali, me): "Yes."
黄晶晶: "Maybe next term you can teach an American Literature course."
阿里: "That would be fantastic!"

*2 weeks later*

黄晶晶: "Maybe it is better if one of our teachers teaches the American Literature course and you teach English Literature instead."
阿里: "Define 'better'..."

***

While I was out...

I suppose I should have expected that I would not have been able to live-up to my expectations to have posted at least one entry while on my whirlwind three-and-a-half week tour of the United States. Still, I am disappointed in myself for not writing just once. I barely even wrote in my personal journal. And I find that when I procrastinate [or avoid prioritizing] my written reflections, I tend to forget the pithy phrasings and descriptive language to which I sometimes dedicate hours of internal editing.

Alas! I have forgotten some of the whimsical and some of the refined observations on America and my American interactions that all seemed strangely familiar.

Flatirons, CO

Pilipin

Everybody! Pose like a Chinese schoolgirl!

This post is a continuation of the last--my recent series of lazy rehashing of my journal.

01/27:

My thoughts (especially those I deem worth writing) have slowed. Is this a sign of relaxation? A shift in mindset due to current state and prospective jobs? Or an indication of having processed my anxieties to a point of acceptance?
*
I pass-out to power ballads blasting on a bus between Clark and Manila. When I wake, it's to a dingy city covered in filth, billboards, box buildings, and few green things. During our brief walk to get bi-bim-bop, our senses are assaulted by honking cars, neon, whispering drug dealers, and self-advertising prostitutes.
*

01/28:

Street vendors and hustlers walk the aisles of our bus as we slowly drift through Manila traffic with the coach door open.

Children wearing only underwear sit on our fast-craft pontoon and beg while the sun beats on their tanned skin.
*
Thin beaches. Coves with bangkas. Perfect sunsets. Drunken admissions and mosquito net riggings. 

Bo-oh-rneo: The Right Stuff

Mes amis! I have returned to technological society from another peaceful foray into off-the-grid living. Much has shifted in my mindset since I wrote my last post, and I have returned from five weeks of vacation (Chinese New Year: 新年快乐) with a relaxed and optimistic mindset.

As per my usual laziness and my routine risk of exploding with thought-peristalsis upon returning from vacations, I will be composing this post and the next (about the Philippines) mostly from excerpts from my [new, leather-bound] journal--thanks Mom and Papa. Prior to quoting myself (i.e. "tooting my own horn"), here is an adjusted itinerary from my original plan:

01/07-09: Kuala Lumpur
01/09-13: Kuching and Batang Lemanak (Sarawak, Borneo)
01/13-16: Bintulu and Similajau National Park (Sarawak, Borneo)
01/16-18: Niah National Park (Sarawak, Borneo)
01/18-20: Miri, Kota Kinabalu (Sarawak and Sabah, Borneo)
01/20- 23: Pulau Mabul (Sabah, Borneo)
01/23-26: Semporna, Kota Kinabalu (Sabah, Borneo)
01/26-27: Manila (Philippines)
01/27-01/31: Sabang, Roxas (Philippines)
01/31-02/05: Borocay (Philippines)
02/05-07: Roxas--Capiz (Philippines)
02/07-12: Masbate, Donsol, Legazpi, Manila (Philippines)

I read eight books and saw way too many low-grade movies during that time. Here are some more thoughts.

01/07:

With my head in my hand, I still don't feel the relief of vacation. Something inside me balks as though I would wake-up tomorrow to be back at the start of today--like a Groundhog Day loop of surreal zeal and distanced hesitation.
*
I'm starting this year, this trip, and this journal as an exhausted version of myself. I'm tired of planning this holiday...of the isolation and alienation I experience at school...of planning my "next step" with only one application submitted for next year...of social stress. The vibrations from vehicular motion lure me into slumber

The Loss of a Great Friend

I do not know if I believe in soul-mates.

I do know that I had found a kindred spirit, a best friend, and a trusted companion. It is so rare to find this--especially in an inanimate object.

Not two-weeks-ago, I realized that my blue zip-up hoodie had gone missing. Only yesterday, I gave-up hope of finding it.

It is with great sadness that I issue this eulogizing blog post. Though I only knew that hoodie for four years (four damn good years), I was familiar with each frayed edge and the origins of each stain. After just four years, I would grossly exagerate that I wore "The Blue Hoodie" for at least 365 days during that time, I would more accurately estimate that I wore "The Blue Hoodie" for at least 100 days (time worn, not days donned and then removed) during that time, and I would definitely know that I could count the times I washed "The Blue Hoodie" on my fingers.

I saw it morph from accessory to pajamas to all-purpose-utility-article. It saw me graduate university. We saw at least 23 countries and 19 states together.

Many came to know me and "The Blue Hoodie" as extensions of one-another. I have heard from several close friends (people, not inanimate objects) that when they thought of me, they thought of me wearing torn jeans, a solid-colored shirt, and "The Blue Hoodie."

So, I will not go on much longer. The sadness of the loss weighs heavily. The following is a montage of moments "The Blue Hoodie" and I shared over the past four years--from a rare snowy day in Jerusalem to its mysterious disappearance in Shenzhen and all that lay between. Cue "Dust in The Wind." You're my boy Blue!

Day 1: A Fox sweatshirt and an Onion fall in love while it snows in Jerusalem

Overwhelmed in Camden Market of London

Accidental Personal Statement?

Much of the romance about exploration and connection relies on stripping away layers (like those of an Onion, mayhaps) to reveal mysteries beyond. What happens once those mysteries lose their undisclosed quality through revealing? What happens to the layers that have been stripped?

For a few years running, I have prided myself on adamantly believing in the power of human connection: connection with others, connection with environment, and connection with the self. Part of my ethos and part of my passions are to connect as much as possible; thus, I explore  and adventure with intent of learning more about others and their places--geographically and with regards to their sense of identity.

Environment onions:
As we delve deeper into new locales and societies, any past layers are not discarded as much as integrated into our knowledge and experience. What is the specialty of Sichuan province (i.e. food)? One of them is Sichuan greenbeans. With this revelation, I lose the mystery of the question but gain the knowledge of what to order in Chengdu. This is a minor example. This concept, though, is acted out on greater scales with regards to learning about hidden alleys with wonderful street vendors that become integrated into routine after being frequented. Once we start peeling away the layers of our environment and how it functions, we continue to add to a cumulative knowledge. There is no loss but the loss of mystery. I would venture so far as to say truly connecting with one's environment is a spiritual fulfillment. One creates a bond to something that is constantly shifting within certain solid structural (or natural) confines; in the past, I have found that this sort of connection with location is conducive to self-affirmation--in chicken-egg fashion, perhaps the latter facilitates the former. Regardless, peeling away an environmental onion reveals an essence of location, of time, and even of self onions.

What is to be expected? What is to be expected.

Fish don't tread water.

I would be the first to profess how foolish it is to begin a journey or even to begin most tasks with set expectations of how the journey and/or task will unfold and/or culminate. Without a certain amount of flexibility to the whims and uncontrollable forces of the world (especially in China), failure is a constant potential; disappointment, a guaranteed outcome. I know this.

Unfortunately, I am bearing witness, these days, to how knowing something and experiencing it may be stark differences that leave one questioning one's own ilk. As detailed to many of you at various points, I am enduring some trying times. Whether I am at school and facing indifferent students or abusive colleagues, or whether I am at home and elsewhere attempting to distract myself as methods of licking my recently opened wounds. There is no need to detail these trials any further, but my kind readership should be aware that I experience insecurity and stress no matter where I go and nearly no matter what I do. The stress in my life is inescapable because of how profound it is. I wish I could, as I say to myself, "Take it one thing and/or day at a time."

Preparation E

The breeze shuffling the leaves of the thirty-year-old cotton wood beyond my parents' backyard soothe my listlessness and my anxieties. The listlessness and anxiety go hand-in-hand, I suppose.

I feel listless because of my awareness of the imminent excitement that will inundate my life: I am moving to China in less than a week.

In fact, one week from the moment when I am writing this will be a moment in which I am recovering from a day lost to air travel and a fourteen-hour-time-shift. My, how my back will ache and my lids will want to shut; but, oh how I will want to take pictures of the signs with aesthetically pleasing script and nonsensical translations.

More after the jump

Setting Sail From Portland

Well, amigos,

I am moving once again. Portland has been a beautiful city with wonderfully accommodating people who are eager to befriend newcomers. Alas, Portland cannot sustain me at the moment: No one in PDX wants to hire me. I have loved my time with my friends here, and I have loved exploring PDX's nooks and crannies; I yearn for moments with other good friends in other locations before I embark on another international adventure--one that may be longer term.

I am still waiting to hear from Princeton in Asia for a teaching fellowship in any one of many Southeastern Asian countries. Also, I attended a wonderfully collaborative group interview in NYC last week for a fellowship with an NGO sponsored by the American Jewish World Service (in India). This morning, I interviewed with a teaching program sponsored by the Chinese government. So, we will see. All these posts would start in the fall.

Until then, I am returning to Ann Arbor to reconnect with my friends and family there. I have love there, and I am embracing it, her, them. I am also helping International Medical Relief standardize their community health education courses.

I will think of my time in PDX fondly. I have come to realizations about some of the stark realities ahead of me because of my experiences during the past three months living in PDX. Life after college is difficult, especially in a struggling economy. Competition for positions I desire is fierce, even though those positions are about collaboration, cooperation, and constructive interaction. And while I am aggravated while watching my bank account dwindle down, I have found ways to stave off hitting zero. And while I bemoan this stress of dwindling funds, my time in Haiti and working with disadvantaged youth at the NELA center has once again shed light on what I should really worry about and stress over and value and consider.


Sure, I had a few moments when I walked past Stumptown or Voodoo Donuts or Pioneer Place and felt resentment for a city that seemed to be rejecting me. But I will remember PDX as a unique experience and experiment in my life. I will miss:

-Stumptown and Voodoo Donuts
-Generally good food everywhere
-Food cart culture
-The constant presence of good cookies in my house
-The daffodils growing out of mossy stones that border the steps to my house
-Meagan's additions to our house (e.g. Tibetan prayer flags)
-The incense of burning hookah in the living room
-The various gifts Meagan received from suitors that went onto our coffee table
-Sheet music wallpaper
-Music everywhere and all the time
-Blackboard walls in our dining room--with neurological maps and David Byrne quotes
-The wind chimes from a neighbor
-Rain lulling me to sleep
-Antony smiling, laughing, and practicing his crafts
-Meagan spinning poi
-Travis eating his toast and milk with me every morning ("Good day sir")
-Walking past Chipotle on the way to and from The Max--free scents
-Free light rails
-Pub Trivia with We Heart Brains
-The ESL students and their odd assignments at the NELA center
-Bikes
-Thoughts of Yo!Mocchi
-Everything being green all the time

Farewell, PDX and friends.

PDX PDQ

I actually wrote the following post some time ago, but I have not yet posted it to this blog. I was trying to make a sort of professional blog, but I have abandoned that pursuit. I have decided that I will just make this a miscellaneous blog; should I ever want to reference my blog writing, I will, hopefully, by that time have a website courtesy of some friends who do web-design--boosting the professionalism of my portfolio while padding their portfolios with another qualifying project. Collaboration is wonderful.

Anyways, I am on the verge of a new adventure in a familiar setting: I am planning on returning to Ann Arbor to embrace certain comforts. One of those comforts being the woman I love. Now is as good a time as any to reflect on what it was like to feel alone while embarking on an adventure to an unfamiliar but at-the-time-promising location.

I have enjoyed Portland (PDX), and I continue to enjoy its fruits: good coffee, unique beers, supportive camaraderie, mild winter, constantly green foliage, free public transportation, etc. Portland is not for me right now, though. My heart is elsewhere, and I feel as thought I am denying my passions by trying to force myself to find a job here.

Fear not, I head to Ann Arbor with cautious optimism (and zealous ambition). I will need to find a job there. AA will not be the same it once was when I was benefiting from the glories of the University's motherly embrace. But there are people I love and streets I know. I need that after my most recent adventure in PDX.

Enough preamble! Here is a brief photo-essay I created en route and upon arriving in PDX. Thank you to the wonderful people who have welcomed me in PDX, and thank you to those who have allowed me to come to realizations about myself at my own pace.

South of Pike's Peak, Colorado: My '93 Jeep Cherokee clamors on to "Everything in its Right Place" by Radiohead. All parties aware of my drive from Denver to Portland via Santa Fe and Los Angeles also know that the car will be shot once it gets to the Northwest--if it gets to the Northwest.

A cold snap has bid me farewell from my parents' house in Denver. It would have been better timing if the temperatures dropped tomorrow. Now my cloth-sided Pumas have absorbed melted snow, and I'm trying to figure out the best way to warm my icicle toes. If I turn on the heater, a burning smell will flood the Jeep; unless I turn off the radio. I try low-heat. Wet socks on or off? Off. How will I dry them? I drape them over the dashboard vents. I feel a draft on the bottom of my feet. The Jeep's body is nearly rusted through. The foliage is shifting from pine to juniper. I'm hitting New Mexico with one foot on a heater, two socks on the dash, and only a vague sense that I am going somewhere.

Route 66 outside Santa Fe, New Mexico: After "Almost Cut My Hair" by CSNY, I kill the engine to hop out for a photo of the red mesa in the distance. A setting sun bounces light off the clay faces, but I feel no thermal reflection. It's still December in Santa Fe.

Being on Route 66 forces me to consider the meaning behind road trips--my road trip. Thirty-some-odd-years-ago, my dad hitchhiked here. It was once safe to hitch. Now, it's not.

I sometimes wonder if paranoia like that of hitching aren't part of the zeitgeist, but I don't have the courage to test these limits.

Others told me I was courageous for declining my Peace Corps assignment in Rwanda. I agree, but sometimes I don't. What could have been if I could have seen past my concerns for security, ethics, roles, etc. ad-nauseum. Maybe I had the fortune of being courageous regardless of my decision.

Can one be courageous if he or she doesn't feel courageous?

Questions about how to find comfort ring through me like Neil Young's echoing pitch. So much of the quintessential road trip is a path to self-discovery or self-uncovering. I like to travel, so I'm traveling. I like to take in as much as I can, so I'm driving. I like being with friends, so I'm moving to live with one of my best friends. I like the nature, and coffee, and fresh food, and beer, and bikes, and public transportation, and thrift, and innovation, and liberal minded people, and diversity, and hiking, and wildlife, and whatever, so I'm moving to Portland.

I think I have a strong sense of self regardless of the part of my identity represented by my weak Jeep that's creeping slowly towards the junkyard and regardless of this legendary southern road that acts as an artery of romantic adventure.

The "road trip" is so stereotypically about a search or an escape.

With a failing economy and pressure from some to excel and pressure from others to explore, I'm searching for somewhere quiet where I can process or where an answer will be readily available on a silver platter and accompanied by a glass of wine and a hospitality suite--all paid for by the justices of the karmic courts. I smile for the timer on the camera.

While living with my parents and without any social outlet, I felt all too familiar with the depressingly overwhelming inundation of contemplative silences. Too much isolated reflection in the suburbs leads to feelings of hermetism, but without the benefit of integration with nature. I'm escaping raucous isolation.

But, I'm well-aware that my finances will probably run-out. And, I'm well-aware that my path may bring me back to my parents' home.

Maybe I'm searching for confidence in the arbiters of karmic justice. I've worked hard and ethically.

A shiver and a sigh. I look back from the mesa to my Jeep. It's no warmer in there than out here.

I have to be in Flagstaff by nightfall. Time to get off the scenic route and back on the interstate.

Outside the Mojave Desert, California: It seems to me that Andrew Bird's "I'm in a Lull" could echo through this valley and off the backs of every gila monster.

The morning after I couchsurf in Flagstaff, I discover my Jeep is dead. Another jab at my liberty to roam freely. My host (who is sporting a Ponce de Leone facial hair revival) helps me secure a mini-van to finish my pilgrimage to Portland. He pats me on the back and wishes me luck.

I rumble on in my mom-mobile.

Balboa Park, Los Angeles, California: I find comfort in reconnecting with a cousin who I haven't seen since before she was pregnant with her now four-year-old son.

Reassurances that my roots exist matches Sly's "Sing A Different Song"; I'm out of my woods and making a leap of faith forward. I'm moving.

Big Sur, California: I take each challenging curve to the sounds of Coltrane's "Giant Steps."

Sequoias bend over steep cliffs and towards a sun that peeks through looming rain-clouds.

The air chills as I move north, and I am now far from the hang-gliders who soared with Soullive over Moro Bay.

Mt. Shasta, California: I complete a 400-mile, non-stop push to the Cal-Oregon border as Andre 3000's "Favorite Things" falls into silence. A necessary bathroom and lunch break allows for reflection.

Last night, an old friend confessed his inner tumult and slight cynicism for his role as a teacher in Oakland. I feel a similarly optimistic cynicism.

A certain clarity emerges. How have I forgotten my passions for activism, for spreading knowledge, for the power of pedagogy, for creativity.

Maybe I'll find something in this line of living in Portland. Maybe I'll wait tables. At least I can achieve a certain peaceful silence in my mind. The Rockies' chill is behind me.