With A Little Help From My Friends

Angel in Ruins

I’m sitting here in Quatar, a fancified spaceship that is allegedly also an airport: I’ve not seen anything like it.  The toilet stalls alone are cleaner than anywhere I’ve visited in Asia, and their coffee saucers are asymmetrical, which is as cool looking as it is impractical.  I’m watching Muslim families take countless foodie photos, and trying to calm my gag reflex at the exorbitant prices.  My blog is  ordering my writing from right to left in Arabic, and effectively blowing my mind.  I’m on my way to the newly democratic state of Myanmar, though I have a hard time remembering to call it anything other than Burma.  I’m taking advantage of stellar wifi, and catching up on all of my Spotify playlists, the perfect .accompaniment to this writing

Pottery Square, Bhaktapur

I laid awfully low in Nepal, often doing nothing more physically exerting than slithering from bed to rooftop to cafe, in no particular order.  I sent texts and emails, and was even able to video chat a few times, no small miracle.  I caught up with my immediate family, some of my closest friends, and even some of my favorite humans from a million years ago.  I thought a lot about what I’ve been doing these past 10 months, what I want to be doing the next 10 months, and my spirit was effectively boosted.  I’m excited to keep going, yes.  But more than experiencing another temple, or stupa, or mountain range, it’s people I’m most excited to encounter, both known and unknown.  

Because more than any comfort or convenience, it’s people I miss the most,  relationships to which I’m tethered, relationships that remind me of who I am.  On the road, I’m anonymous.  And until recently, it was a feeling I reveled in, and took advantage of: who am I apart from my roles in others’ lives, my responsibilities, my professional acumen?  Who am I when I’m scared, or tired, or hangry?  What these past few weeks of connection and reconnection have done is remind me, just a little, of just that.  A wise friend encouraged me to attend to the little things, the smiles, the connections with people I’d otherwise never have met, and to let go of the arrogance that compels me to understand, to “fix” everything.  He was, and is, totally right.  But I’d lost sight of that under the weight of the ills of the world: humbled again.

I was lucky enough to find a guest house run by the loveliest family ever.  My two day stay unfolded into nine as we befriended one another without a common language, and I allowed my edges to be softened by perfectly spicy homemade curries that sweated my eyeballs without sweating my colon.  I now understand why my friends complain when I squeeze their cheeks, as it became a multiple-times-daily occurrence by Granny, a most mischievous little lady who, as they say, had me at hello.  Granny and her family squeezed blood into my cheeks, and encouragement into my homesick heart, and I’m ready for what’s next.  Bring it on, Burma

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*Typos drive me crazy, but it's nearly impossible for my brain to think backwards, so I apologize... I'm giving up!!