Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Slipping on wet concrete.

I know it's a bit late for this, but...

And now it is time to go. I woke up early the other morning and watched the sun rise. I didn't actually get to see the spherical fire raise above the water, gentle waves frothing at the debris on the edges. Instead, I saw it behind clouds, unable to shine through. I saw a tear in the clouds though, and waited for the sun to expose itself at 5:47 a.m. It finally came with all of its glory. It was strange because I looked directly into the light, I saw the shape of the sun. It didn't look like a million fires, but more so like a smooth surface, a clear atmosphere of plastic concealing the fire beneath. Of course I thought about how the sun gives us life, and about it exploding, or being extinguished by the next superpower. And then my mind came to my own life, the overwhelming fear that I feel about going home, and the idea that this emotion is what I feel the most life for having. Fear is what keeps me motivated; I just hope that it doesn't discourage me to do the great things that I wish to do in the future. The sun was reflecting off the water from the farthest point I could see, the horizon, nearly all the way to my feet which rested against the concrete wall above all the sand. My mind went to a metaphor that I used for life in a story I once wrote. About how the ocean reflects the sun and a life that goes on for what seems to be forever. The reflection of the sun on the water is my life; it's going to be a long one, but there is a point where I can't see anymore. There's a point where the water breaks off and reaches the edge of the earth. There's a point in my life where I will be walking on water and all of a sudden I will have reached the edge of the earth. I hope that I don't fall off. I hope that I fly.

I was in one of the most beautiful places last weekend, Koh Tao. It's monsoon season, well it's turned into that any way. I was heavily intoxicated the night before, so much so that I didn't know that I was asleep until I awoke in an unfamiliar place. Luckily, it was the bungalow that we booked the previous day. I was still slightly drunk, but I was in that place where I feel the need to ponder about life's issues, my family, my friends, the past that extends behind my being, and the future that I am always trying to live in. And then my mind drifted to darker places, to the suicide of a friend, to my father ceasing to exist to any of us. I sat with my legs dangling from the rasta bar where friends and I were enjoying a beer, and I couldn't stop feeling, feeling and living for the first time. It stung to be alive, especially with the grit flying in with the monsoon. The clouds darkened and the wind began to blow violently. The water below was still crystal clear and reflecting blue from somewhere, but the crests became larger, white with furor. And I thought about the people who I wish that I could share this place with. The people who I know are living the best that they can, but dont' have the opportunity to look out over the water, or the trees, or inside of others, or inside of themselves even. Those who haven't taken the time to write in order to work out their feelings and who they really are, and the things that make them them.

And it just crushed me to think that there are people who throw all of it away. Those people don't get to see things like this. I feel like that if I was given the opportunity to flash this all before their eyes just moments before their fateful decisions, maybe the outcomes would be completely different. I thought about watching storms roll in with my dad on the porch. He loved to do that, and I did too. And waking up early in the morning to ride the waves with him. And the two things have come together, and he's not there to even call about it. He's not there to appreciate it, or for me to gloat to. And most of the time I don't blame him for it. Maybe if I flashed this in front of him, he would have made the decision that he made still, because he would see that he was not happy and that happiness was possible, in the water, or in a place far away from the life that he wrongfully blamed. I hope that now he blames himself, the same way that I blame myself for not being accessible emotionally to him.

But there's no use in living in the past, the present is an instant, and the future won't ever really be felt.

And now I ride in a car with 6 of the most amazing people I have met in my life. We are on our way to Bangkok, and then to the rest of our lives. We are going to take a plane to those, to St. Louis, to Kentucky, to Georgia, hopefully one day to South America and to the rest of the world. I sit here and I think about the experiences that I have had in Thailand and the rest of Southeast Asia, and how I wouldn't change anything. I wouldn't change anything because while this wasn't the most of a culture submergence like I was hoping, it was exactly what I needed. It wasn't just some wasted vacation to the beach where we sit in awe of the sunsets and become iritated with the sand in our asses. Don't get me wrong, there was plenty of that happening, but I found myself and I found the kind of people I would like to surround myself with. I found that I need to help people, that survival is not enough any more. I will no longer live to survive, but I will live to strive and hopefully to help others strive as well. For what reason? I'm not sure, but it's enough for me to just meet these people and to show myself and others that everyone is just as deserving of survival and a second chance as anyone else. If nothing else, I would like to show you that there are things worth living for, even if the present seems unbearable, it's bound to fade in an instant.

I look out the window and I feel the most perceptive that I have since I have been in Thailand. It always seems that when something is ending, I tend to pay the most attention. The clouds are rolling over rice fields to my left. Sarah is lying on John's lap eating sour skittles to my right. And everything is exactly where it should be, and going exactly where it belongs right now. There are windmills that I haven't seen previously, made of worn brown canvas, and the scraps of wood that used to make up a farm shed, blown over by many years ago's monsoons which tear at the rice fields digging up their crops.

And now I suddenly find that the present is me sitting in an airplane from Tokyo to Detroit, drinking cabernet out of a plastic cup. It is one thing to see the sun set or rise over the ocean from just beyond the shore. It is something completely different to see the bright red fire drifting beneath the surface of the earth from above the clouds. This is the way that I view my life right now, from above it, objectively, with hopes for the future, regrets of the past, and a clear understanding of what my life is as it stands. I have fear going into the future, but I have ambition, the combination of the two could be either helpful or detrimental. I don't want to lose sight of the world from this vantage point because that is when it becomes the worst.

In eight hours I will be back in the United States. I hate to say it, but I already find myself being agitated by the English language, and the large frames of the flight attendants which sharply contrast those who work on the Asian flights. I do, however, see that there is more to be shared with two individuals who use the same language.