I dunno. Maybe I just like trilogies.
The Dreamer: Act 1
Everything in life is unattainable.
The Traveler: Act 2
I thought I was in a stream, but I sailed to the oceans.
The Drowner: Act 3
Water rush in, numb my soul.
--
More on this later.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The art of pomp and circumstance.
As this is my bout of blog posting, there's quite a lot to say to fill up the spaces that were vacant in my cyberspace absence.
The title of this blog refers to a certain piece of music that is often played at graduation ceremonies, including mine. I know, I graduated about a year ago, but just this past weekend we held a more formal ceremony for three years of home-school graduates. And despite having already done something akin to this, there was still a certain amount of special to be had from the experience.
So there I was, alongside five other fellow graduates sharing the glory of a milestone to be remembered. There isn't a whole lot to say after that about the ceremony juxtaposes the abnormal: We collected the aiming words of a commencement address, our diplomas, and sweat under burning gowns. Our pictures were displayed, our hard work commended, and our tassels turned.
Some may wonder that with my absence, my neglect to mention 'important things' supersedes the mention-worthy authority of this blog, but I just wanted to make a note of things.
I feel that even though the doom and gloom of leaving home has loomed overheard for a long time, this marks the beginning of the end. I have to start packing this week, and at the end of this week I'll be getting my second-to-last paycheck.
Things to ruminate over,
-Ben
The title of this blog refers to a certain piece of music that is often played at graduation ceremonies, including mine. I know, I graduated about a year ago, but just this past weekend we held a more formal ceremony for three years of home-school graduates. And despite having already done something akin to this, there was still a certain amount of special to be had from the experience.
So there I was, alongside five other fellow graduates sharing the glory of a milestone to be remembered. There isn't a whole lot to say after that about the ceremony juxtaposes the abnormal: We collected the aiming words of a commencement address, our diplomas, and sweat under burning gowns. Our pictures were displayed, our hard work commended, and our tassels turned.
Some may wonder that with my absence, my neglect to mention 'important things' supersedes the mention-worthy authority of this blog, but I just wanted to make a note of things.
I feel that even though the doom and gloom of leaving home has loomed overheard for a long time, this marks the beginning of the end. I have to start packing this week, and at the end of this week I'll be getting my second-to-last paycheck.
Things to ruminate over,
-Ben
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Mataremoste! vs. the Ping Pong Warriors
I suppose I go through bouts of posting and not posting, and you've just been witness to one of my non-bouts. I've had an ample alibi for the past two weeks, but before that I'm afraid I'm not quite so innocent.
I've just realized that it's been a little over a year that I've had this blog, and the main catalyst for writing one of my first blogs has reared it's annual head yet again: youth camp.
I'm not penning a production like I did for my last outing, but I'll try not to spare too many details. A lot has happened these past few weeks and I don't know if I can or am motivated enough to capture it all, but here it is.
In comparison with last year's, not a lot has remained the same. The group of intrepid youth shrunk from over a hundred to a mere sixteen, but not even entirely because the Thai youngsters didn't join us. We didn't stay in dormitories, we slept in tents. The camp was decidedly grosser than last year's, but on the bright side our auditorium had air conditioning, and the resort came with access to a swimming pool.
This was the first youth camp that I've been in charge of the worship, so I had six worship sessions to plan for, with me leading two of them. It was a very stressful, but ultimately rewarding experience, and I cannot thank enough the amazing people that helped me do it.
The theme/title of the camp was Fully Loaded, and on this, I have to say that camp delivered. Armpit fruit juice, sardine nose relays, mud baths, cat-fishing with bare hands, pink goo, green goo, condiment twister, and papaya rugby, just to name a few of the activities we partook in. Not only that, but the theme carried over into spiritual times as well, with the general topic study of the Holy Spirit.
I know I haven't given a whole lot of information, but I think that that summation pretty nicely wraps it up.
After a few hard days of camp, all you want to do is go home, right? Well, even if I wanted to stay home, I couldn't. I had to drag my suitcase home, spend a few hours with the family, attempting to re-pack some of my nicer clothes, and then my parents sent me away for yet another week.
This time, I was heading off for a week away with the family of my best friend. We drove a croaking van through some Thai mountains to arrive at a place aptly named Cave Lodge. No, it's not as cool to be in an actual cave, but nonetheless, the cool-factor is still there. The lodge is, well, a lodge on stilts, and made entirely up of wood and bamboo. The reason that it's called Cave Lodge is because there are over two hundred caves in the immediate area.
The week was, more or less, a recuperation from youth camp. Despite there not being any fans much less air conditioners, I slept fantastically every single night. And what was there waiting for me when I got up? Well, a humble breakfast and a non-biological little brother to challenge me to a game of ping pong.
So, in retrospect, I ate a lot of muesli and played a lot of ping pong. We also did the requisite cave exploring and family time with a board game as the centerpiece. The thing was, it wasn't important for us to do anything, and so we didn't. The result was a relaxing week to soothe my aching bones, and a breaking in of the homesickness to come.
I said I wasn't going to write much, so even though this post took a while to get out there, I'm just trying to get it out there.
There should be more blogfood coming your way relatively soon, I think a lot of the stress I've suffered over the past week is slowly abating.
Thank you for you time, and remember, keep on truckin'.
- Ben
P.S. The time frame mentioned at the beginning of this post is a little outdated but I'm too lazy to change it, so keep that in mind.
I've just realized that it's been a little over a year that I've had this blog, and the main catalyst for writing one of my first blogs has reared it's annual head yet again: youth camp.
I'm not penning a production like I did for my last outing, but I'll try not to spare too many details. A lot has happened these past few weeks and I don't know if I can or am motivated enough to capture it all, but here it is.
In comparison with last year's, not a lot has remained the same. The group of intrepid youth shrunk from over a hundred to a mere sixteen, but not even entirely because the Thai youngsters didn't join us. We didn't stay in dormitories, we slept in tents. The camp was decidedly grosser than last year's, but on the bright side our auditorium had air conditioning, and the resort came with access to a swimming pool.
This was the first youth camp that I've been in charge of the worship, so I had six worship sessions to plan for, with me leading two of them. It was a very stressful, but ultimately rewarding experience, and I cannot thank enough the amazing people that helped me do it.
The theme/title of the camp was Fully Loaded, and on this, I have to say that camp delivered. Armpit fruit juice, sardine nose relays, mud baths, cat-fishing with bare hands, pink goo, green goo, condiment twister, and papaya rugby, just to name a few of the activities we partook in. Not only that, but the theme carried over into spiritual times as well, with the general topic study of the Holy Spirit.
I know I haven't given a whole lot of information, but I think that that summation pretty nicely wraps it up.
After a few hard days of camp, all you want to do is go home, right? Well, even if I wanted to stay home, I couldn't. I had to drag my suitcase home, spend a few hours with the family, attempting to re-pack some of my nicer clothes, and then my parents sent me away for yet another week.
This time, I was heading off for a week away with the family of my best friend. We drove a croaking van through some Thai mountains to arrive at a place aptly named Cave Lodge. No, it's not as cool to be in an actual cave, but nonetheless, the cool-factor is still there. The lodge is, well, a lodge on stilts, and made entirely up of wood and bamboo. The reason that it's called Cave Lodge is because there are over two hundred caves in the immediate area.
The week was, more or less, a recuperation from youth camp. Despite there not being any fans much less air conditioners, I slept fantastically every single night. And what was there waiting for me when I got up? Well, a humble breakfast and a non-biological little brother to challenge me to a game of ping pong.
So, in retrospect, I ate a lot of muesli and played a lot of ping pong. We also did the requisite cave exploring and family time with a board game as the centerpiece. The thing was, it wasn't important for us to do anything, and so we didn't. The result was a relaxing week to soothe my aching bones, and a breaking in of the homesickness to come.
I said I wasn't going to write much, so even though this post took a while to get out there, I'm just trying to get it out there.
There should be more blogfood coming your way relatively soon, I think a lot of the stress I've suffered over the past week is slowly abating.
Thank you for you time, and remember, keep on truckin'.
- Ben
P.S. The time frame mentioned at the beginning of this post is a little outdated but I'm too lazy to change it, so keep that in mind.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
An Extremely Modest Proposal
When I first heard of the vacation proposal, I rejected it. I threw it out, dripping from my own streams of vitriol. What's so bad about a vacation, you say? Well, what exactly is so good about one? To a sociable teenager such as myself (read: whiny and stubborn) who is running out of time, to be ripped away from his vibrant life for even a meager ten days is life-threatening. Obviously, the promise of a beach wasn't near as thrilling as the promise of walking around the mall for hours, only breaking occasionally for sub-par food.
Even by the time all of us and our stuff was carefully packed in the car, I still wasn't convinced. Let me tell you, ten hours is a long time to mull over the things I already didn't care for; cramped body parts (and functions), shuddering roads, and our GPS's incessant warbling. We stopped at a roadside hotel for the night, and I found a dead cockroach to add to my list.
The next day held only a few hours of actual driving, and we made it fairly quickly to our tropical destination. It only took a matter of minutes before I recanted every ill-intentioned thought I had had toward such a haven as this. Being a male teenager does have certain advantages, and I was able to acquire a room all to myself. The room was discovered with a double bed, its own bathroom, and an elongated balcony. On the actual balcony, a simple turn of the head could swing you from the deep blue of careful chlorination, or a westward bay, tingling with curls of foam. A waved construction of man, or the mighty splendor of creation. Naturally, my family opted first for the pool. As such, it only took a few hours before my new swim-wear was put to good use. Heaven forbid that I actually swim, I just wanted to weightlessly drift for hours on end, my eyes closed to life's problems. It didn't flawlessly work, but it helped my tan.
Day 2:
We as of yet have only attempted one night without using the air conditioner, and at this point we don't intend for a repeat performance. I get up early (and yes, seven is early, especially on vacation), shower, and finish reading the book I had started the day before. The beauty of free time is that it can always delightfully be wasted, this time by a library that sits rather nonchalantly directly in front of my balcony view.
Breakfast is a buffet in the main cafeteria. Yes, it is delicious, and yes, I manage to eat far too much. The morning is spent splashing salt water and accidentally getting beach up my shorts. The sand is soft and crumbled, like baked confection sugar swirled around candles of fir trees. And much like this powdered sugar, it also tends to get everywhere, but never mind. I retreat to my room to take a second shower, start a new book, and write the beginnings of this log. Thankfully relaxation isn't drowned by possibilities; it certainly looks as if I'll be wading in a sea of tranquility for the next week or so. So long, I'm off to capture sunlight.
--
I didn't capture the sunlight like I wanted to, but it sure likes getting trapped under my skin. I'll settle for a handful of shells, beached by the low tide. Uncomfortable sandals lashed between my toes, I was a lone warrior with the entire horizon held in my iris. Pale blue boats, float idly in the shallows, while the ground below me seems to pulsate with the fury of thousands of tiny legs. They scurry back and forth between holes, and you wonder if they could slip the ground from under you. I shake off my feet cages and scrunch. You can't hear much besides the constant lapping of the water, and your own ebb and flow of thought, never ceasing to drench the shores of the mind.
I start to walk, a watery yonder on my left, sparse tropical civilization to my right, and a massage of liquid beneath my feet. I start to walk, leaving my shoes behind. When I finally return, they are rather indignant, and show no mercy for toes all the way home. Most of the rest of the afternoon is uneventful, which is apparently pleasant according to vacation standards. I spent it starting another new book, writing portions of this insufficient monologue, and serenading the room walls.
Evening comes, so I put on my swimming trunks and head down to the pool. The water is surprisingly warm, and aimlessly flailing my limbs held the most fun I'd had all week. Limbs tired, I grab airy plastic and hoist myself on my back. Words can hardly describe the milky textures and friendly moon, even though only half of his face is showing. It was as if somebody had poked holes through a giant blanket, and kept wiggling the fabric so that the pinpricks of light danced too. It was in that moment that I had never felt so simultaneously miniscule and secure in being cared for at the same time. Celestial bodies continue their june-bug while I remain content to hop back to my room. There was only one thing left for the day: A showdown of words fighting for territory upon crinkled land. In other (more normal) words, I took part in an ill-fated Scrabble match against my mother, my poorly trained soldiers soundly beaten and sent home. I didn't mind, sometime this week I'd get the opportunity for vocabulary domination through Boggle.
Day 3:
After the normality, there isn't a whole lot to tell. Breakfast is still delicious, I finished my third book, and my sandals are still slightly uncomfortable. I maintain minimal contact with the outside world, and spend a good portion of time either reading or catching up on sleep. I wish there was more exploring to be done, but it appears the fine residence of Dolphin Bay leaves most of the room for relaxing. I say most because there is still the promise of boat and kayak trips, but for now I'm sequestered in my room.
Day 4:
Most of the morning passes by expectantly, with a few extra pieces of toast. The smell of shore permeates the outdoors and I revel in it. As a surprise, or maybe even as a bribe (it's hard to tell the difference nowadays, but it works) my dad decided to rent the two available motorbikes for the afternoon. I won't detail the minor 'speed bump' right at the beginning, but after that setback, everything is smooth driving. There's a lazy stretch of road parallel to the coast and we cling to it for the nonexistent traffic and distracting but beautiful scenery. When we did veer off onto bigger roads and bigger things, I'm eager to exercise my wrist and soak in the rush. I pull back the throttle and feel the chatter of the engine and the gradually unfocusing pavement. My dad is ahead of me, and I can quickly close the gap if I need to. The wind is a forceful bully: it whips the helmet strap against my neck, takes a holed of whistling clothes, and presses the visor hard into my nose. I can't say I mind; I'd wish for the wind to carry me everyday. And for a few hours, it did.
Day 5:
In our single stroke of actual planning we arranged for a boat to take us around the bay for some fishing, but it mostly served as an extra chance for the sun to paint us a deeper shade of red. I view fishing quite similarly to Scrabble: it's fun for a little while, but eventually you wonder when it's going to end, if ever. Which is why I carried my book along as added ammunition against a tyrant named boredom.
Our captain was built of smiles and leathery brown skin like the majority of Thais, and you could tell he loved his job. He quickly got all of us attached to fishing lines, even my mother, who would have preferred to sit this one out. Not five minutes had past before my little sister felt a tug on her line and quickly reeled it in. Then it happened again, and again. I caught two of my own silver sea creatures, but Abigail remains the heroine of the day with six to her credit. I made my catches early on, so I quickly find excuse to lay back and become the boat, caressing crests of emerald water.
Due to some lucky miscommunication, the boat swerves around to the lee shores of the one place my parents didn't want to go. Unsurprisingly, Monkey Island is aptly named and our welcoming party consists of a single primate, larger than you'd think. Our toothy guide begins making noises of encouragement and throwing orange flecks of something I couldn't identify, but the creature remains wary. Then he (I think all monkeys have the appearance of males, but don't hold it against us) yawned, and I very quickly become just as wary. I saw exactly how large his incisors were. He scampers off and we follow, only to the point of running into whatever you would call a group of monkeys. I notice two of the monkeys that have offspring attached to their chest, hereby disproving my previous theory. We had always heard unpleasant stories about the island's inhabitants being exceedingly aggressive, owing to my parent's hesitation, but these ones remained as shy as kids on the first day of school.
If the monkeys would have remained still, which they would not, you could've mistaken most any one of them for some primal stuffed animal, and I probably wouldn't hesitate to take one home if I could. Their eyes were like caramel that had recently been glazed over, which I see when I finally manage to get one over and give a little tug on my shorts. A few seconds later he was gone, and we retreat to the relative shade of the boat. thus concludes our island adventuring, and anything remotely unordinary for the rest of the day.
Day 6:
On a relative whim we decide to visit a national park that happened to be quite close by. After breakfast, of course. You can't miss breakfast on days like these.
Our first stop had us stomping through richly red soil under the glare of a feverish sun. We are handed awkward looking head-lamps and pointed away to a rather large pile of rocks, which evidently we are supposed to climb. All we have to do is follow the arrows and hope for no sprained ankles. Half an hour later finds me peering down through a substantial opening in the ground. Or mountain, as it were. You are led down by a comfortably sturdy ladder (by Thai standards) and left to stare at all the natural wonders that a cave can afford. The disadvantage of small families comes when Abby is the only one willing to join me the seeking out the depths of the cave, and I'm instructed not to lead her too far.
The head-lamps are squeezed just tight enough to allow brain aneurysms, but I hold up fine among the craggled enclosure of brown. The stalactites and their brothers seem friendly enough, so even when the path becomes difficult, we keep on going. It's our first encounter with the living that gives us time to pause. I hate spiders. He probably just wishes I would stop shining light in his eyes. I turn a blind eye and crawl on, coming to some more agreeable caverns. It should have been expected, but the wider space allows for some new friends. I ask Abby if she wants to keep going in spite of the bats, but I'm secretly thankful when she said no. Not before one decides to fly out a short distance from our heads, but no worries, we live to fight another day.
I don't have to have had a traumatic experience with those blind cave creatures to know that I dislike them (hate is more naturally reserved for the aforementioned arachnid), but it's just as well. They are probably thankful for me to be out of their way.
Backtracking among scattered rocks, I make sure Abby has safe footing and a sure hold of my hand in just enough time to be concerned for my own safety. We travel to the decidedly less exciting visitor's center, but at least there are more of our primate friends. They saw fit to ramble around every tree they could find, and maybe even on occasion to cross the road.
One thing did strike me about this place, and that's that in spite of the tropics, the landscape is quite desert reminiscent. All they need is a few saguaros in place of the mangrove trees and I would have been fooled. Of course, this is me we're talking about.
After that we find our way to a surprisingly pleasant Thai steakhouse, where I ordered the 'beep steak.' Afternoons back at the resort are holding up to a lazy standard, despite me having to play catch up with this travel journal. Duty calls, right?
Day 7:
Today is supposed to be extra relaxing because apparently some stiffness stubbornly held up
overnight from yesterday's excursion, enough to postpone the kayaking trip we had planned. But also for the maximum dolphin viewing time, which I anticipate in earnest. The stiffness wasn't unkind to me, but I still lazily coasted through books five and six. The evening is just balmy enough to ready for a swim under cloudy black. Nature always has a way of proving my failings, but when I saw the moon clothed in swathes of smoky haze framed to perfection by the leafy blades of closer palm trees, I had to rush for the camera. A picture takes, but has the appearance of film captured by a disposable in a windstorm. I change the settings. The camera shudders unexpectedly as the flash pops up in surprise and I overhear mutterings of 'What was that?', 'I thought it was lightning.' Disappointingly, it still looks like a large speck of dust got caught in the lens. I maintain a bruised composure and walk quickly back to the room to trade the camera for the smooth wood of my guitar. Ah, familiarity.
Day 8:
The one constant that strings together almost every single one of our weeks has always been church, and this Sunday is no different. We brave early morning traffic and unsure directions to finally make it to a gathering of Christians that could very well have been a simple Bible study. The message is about being judgmental, and I identify. The pastor and his wife are also members of the same organization as us, so we spend our afternoon at a seafood restaurant with most gorgeous seaside view I've ever seen.
Overall, not that exciting, but there's nothing better than fellowship and food with good friends.
Day 9:
Here we come, the final day. Some disappointing things happened to bring our kayaking trip to this point in time, but we still set out after breakfast, seeing the ache of arms in our future. I grab a purple ended oar, and drag a hopefully sea-worthy vessel to the licking edge. Push off, and the water rolls under with all the thunder of an infant cradle. About twenty minutes later, this was not the case. I'm called abruptly back with an island giant staring me down. So, our self-sustained boat trip was kept pretty short, but as in my orange plastic raft, part of the fun is going with the flow.
The rest of the day is layered with the theme of our entire vacation: reading, swimming, and general relaxation. A final respite before the realization that we have to spend eleven straight hours in the car tomorrow.
Now:
In the aftermath of all this, I'm pretty content. I realized that in Chiang Mai I was spending too much time for assuring closure with the multitude of friends that I soon am leaving behind, and I wasn't spending enough time to assure closure with my beloved family members that will leave behind a more consistent hole than most of my friends could.
Even by the time all of us and our stuff was carefully packed in the car, I still wasn't convinced. Let me tell you, ten hours is a long time to mull over the things I already didn't care for; cramped body parts (and functions), shuddering roads, and our GPS's incessant warbling. We stopped at a roadside hotel for the night, and I found a dead cockroach to add to my list.
The next day held only a few hours of actual driving, and we made it fairly quickly to our tropical destination. It only took a matter of minutes before I recanted every ill-intentioned thought I had had toward such a haven as this. Being a male teenager does have certain advantages, and I was able to acquire a room all to myself. The room was discovered with a double bed, its own bathroom, and an elongated balcony. On the actual balcony, a simple turn of the head could swing you from the deep blue of careful chlorination, or a westward bay, tingling with curls of foam. A waved construction of man, or the mighty splendor of creation. Naturally, my family opted first for the pool. As such, it only took a few hours before my new swim-wear was put to good use. Heaven forbid that I actually swim, I just wanted to weightlessly drift for hours on end, my eyes closed to life's problems. It didn't flawlessly work, but it helped my tan.
Day 2:
We as of yet have only attempted one night without using the air conditioner, and at this point we don't intend for a repeat performance. I get up early (and yes, seven is early, especially on vacation), shower, and finish reading the book I had started the day before. The beauty of free time is that it can always delightfully be wasted, this time by a library that sits rather nonchalantly directly in front of my balcony view.
Breakfast is a buffet in the main cafeteria. Yes, it is delicious, and yes, I manage to eat far too much. The morning is spent splashing salt water and accidentally getting beach up my shorts. The sand is soft and crumbled, like baked confection sugar swirled around candles of fir trees. And much like this powdered sugar, it also tends to get everywhere, but never mind. I retreat to my room to take a second shower, start a new book, and write the beginnings of this log. Thankfully relaxation isn't drowned by possibilities; it certainly looks as if I'll be wading in a sea of tranquility for the next week or so. So long, I'm off to capture sunlight.
--
I didn't capture the sunlight like I wanted to, but it sure likes getting trapped under my skin. I'll settle for a handful of shells, beached by the low tide. Uncomfortable sandals lashed between my toes, I was a lone warrior with the entire horizon held in my iris. Pale blue boats, float idly in the shallows, while the ground below me seems to pulsate with the fury of thousands of tiny legs. They scurry back and forth between holes, and you wonder if they could slip the ground from under you. I shake off my feet cages and scrunch. You can't hear much besides the constant lapping of the water, and your own ebb and flow of thought, never ceasing to drench the shores of the mind.
I start to walk, a watery yonder on my left, sparse tropical civilization to my right, and a massage of liquid beneath my feet. I start to walk, leaving my shoes behind. When I finally return, they are rather indignant, and show no mercy for toes all the way home. Most of the rest of the afternoon is uneventful, which is apparently pleasant according to vacation standards. I spent it starting another new book, writing portions of this insufficient monologue, and serenading the room walls.
Evening comes, so I put on my swimming trunks and head down to the pool. The water is surprisingly warm, and aimlessly flailing my limbs held the most fun I'd had all week. Limbs tired, I grab airy plastic and hoist myself on my back. Words can hardly describe the milky textures and friendly moon, even though only half of his face is showing. It was as if somebody had poked holes through a giant blanket, and kept wiggling the fabric so that the pinpricks of light danced too. It was in that moment that I had never felt so simultaneously miniscule and secure in being cared for at the same time. Celestial bodies continue their june-bug while I remain content to hop back to my room. There was only one thing left for the day: A showdown of words fighting for territory upon crinkled land. In other (more normal) words, I took part in an ill-fated Scrabble match against my mother, my poorly trained soldiers soundly beaten and sent home. I didn't mind, sometime this week I'd get the opportunity for vocabulary domination through Boggle.
Day 3:
After the normality, there isn't a whole lot to tell. Breakfast is still delicious, I finished my third book, and my sandals are still slightly uncomfortable. I maintain minimal contact with the outside world, and spend a good portion of time either reading or catching up on sleep. I wish there was more exploring to be done, but it appears the fine residence of Dolphin Bay leaves most of the room for relaxing. I say most because there is still the promise of boat and kayak trips, but for now I'm sequestered in my room.
Day 4:
Most of the morning passes by expectantly, with a few extra pieces of toast. The smell of shore permeates the outdoors and I revel in it. As a surprise, or maybe even as a bribe (it's hard to tell the difference nowadays, but it works) my dad decided to rent the two available motorbikes for the afternoon. I won't detail the minor 'speed bump' right at the beginning, but after that setback, everything is smooth driving. There's a lazy stretch of road parallel to the coast and we cling to it for the nonexistent traffic and distracting but beautiful scenery. When we did veer off onto bigger roads and bigger things, I'm eager to exercise my wrist and soak in the rush. I pull back the throttle and feel the chatter of the engine and the gradually unfocusing pavement. My dad is ahead of me, and I can quickly close the gap if I need to. The wind is a forceful bully: it whips the helmet strap against my neck, takes a holed of whistling clothes, and presses the visor hard into my nose. I can't say I mind; I'd wish for the wind to carry me everyday. And for a few hours, it did.
Day 5:
In our single stroke of actual planning we arranged for a boat to take us around the bay for some fishing, but it mostly served as an extra chance for the sun to paint us a deeper shade of red. I view fishing quite similarly to Scrabble: it's fun for a little while, but eventually you wonder when it's going to end, if ever. Which is why I carried my book along as added ammunition against a tyrant named boredom.
Our captain was built of smiles and leathery brown skin like the majority of Thais, and you could tell he loved his job. He quickly got all of us attached to fishing lines, even my mother, who would have preferred to sit this one out. Not five minutes had past before my little sister felt a tug on her line and quickly reeled it in. Then it happened again, and again. I caught two of my own silver sea creatures, but Abigail remains the heroine of the day with six to her credit. I made my catches early on, so I quickly find excuse to lay back and become the boat, caressing crests of emerald water.
Due to some lucky miscommunication, the boat swerves around to the lee shores of the one place my parents didn't want to go. Unsurprisingly, Monkey Island is aptly named and our welcoming party consists of a single primate, larger than you'd think. Our toothy guide begins making noises of encouragement and throwing orange flecks of something I couldn't identify, but the creature remains wary. Then he (I think all monkeys have the appearance of males, but don't hold it against us) yawned, and I very quickly become just as wary. I saw exactly how large his incisors were. He scampers off and we follow, only to the point of running into whatever you would call a group of monkeys. I notice two of the monkeys that have offspring attached to their chest, hereby disproving my previous theory. We had always heard unpleasant stories about the island's inhabitants being exceedingly aggressive, owing to my parent's hesitation, but these ones remained as shy as kids on the first day of school.
If the monkeys would have remained still, which they would not, you could've mistaken most any one of them for some primal stuffed animal, and I probably wouldn't hesitate to take one home if I could. Their eyes were like caramel that had recently been glazed over, which I see when I finally manage to get one over and give a little tug on my shorts. A few seconds later he was gone, and we retreat to the relative shade of the boat. thus concludes our island adventuring, and anything remotely unordinary for the rest of the day.
Day 6:
On a relative whim we decide to visit a national park that happened to be quite close by. After breakfast, of course. You can't miss breakfast on days like these.
Our first stop had us stomping through richly red soil under the glare of a feverish sun. We are handed awkward looking head-lamps and pointed away to a rather large pile of rocks, which evidently we are supposed to climb. All we have to do is follow the arrows and hope for no sprained ankles. Half an hour later finds me peering down through a substantial opening in the ground. Or mountain, as it were. You are led down by a comfortably sturdy ladder (by Thai standards) and left to stare at all the natural wonders that a cave can afford. The disadvantage of small families comes when Abby is the only one willing to join me the seeking out the depths of the cave, and I'm instructed not to lead her too far.
The head-lamps are squeezed just tight enough to allow brain aneurysms, but I hold up fine among the craggled enclosure of brown. The stalactites and their brothers seem friendly enough, so even when the path becomes difficult, we keep on going. It's our first encounter with the living that gives us time to pause. I hate spiders. He probably just wishes I would stop shining light in his eyes. I turn a blind eye and crawl on, coming to some more agreeable caverns. It should have been expected, but the wider space allows for some new friends. I ask Abby if she wants to keep going in spite of the bats, but I'm secretly thankful when she said no. Not before one decides to fly out a short distance from our heads, but no worries, we live to fight another day.
I don't have to have had a traumatic experience with those blind cave creatures to know that I dislike them (hate is more naturally reserved for the aforementioned arachnid), but it's just as well. They are probably thankful for me to be out of their way.
Backtracking among scattered rocks, I make sure Abby has safe footing and a sure hold of my hand in just enough time to be concerned for my own safety. We travel to the decidedly less exciting visitor's center, but at least there are more of our primate friends. They saw fit to ramble around every tree they could find, and maybe even on occasion to cross the road.
One thing did strike me about this place, and that's that in spite of the tropics, the landscape is quite desert reminiscent. All they need is a few saguaros in place of the mangrove trees and I would have been fooled. Of course, this is me we're talking about.
After that we find our way to a surprisingly pleasant Thai steakhouse, where I ordered the 'beep steak.' Afternoons back at the resort are holding up to a lazy standard, despite me having to play catch up with this travel journal. Duty calls, right?
Day 7:
Today is supposed to be extra relaxing because apparently some stiffness stubbornly held up
overnight from yesterday's excursion, enough to postpone the kayaking trip we had planned. But also for the maximum dolphin viewing time, which I anticipate in earnest. The stiffness wasn't unkind to me, but I still lazily coasted through books five and six. The evening is just balmy enough to ready for a swim under cloudy black. Nature always has a way of proving my failings, but when I saw the moon clothed in swathes of smoky haze framed to perfection by the leafy blades of closer palm trees, I had to rush for the camera. A picture takes, but has the appearance of film captured by a disposable in a windstorm. I change the settings. The camera shudders unexpectedly as the flash pops up in surprise and I overhear mutterings of 'What was that?', 'I thought it was lightning.' Disappointingly, it still looks like a large speck of dust got caught in the lens. I maintain a bruised composure and walk quickly back to the room to trade the camera for the smooth wood of my guitar. Ah, familiarity.
Day 8:
The one constant that strings together almost every single one of our weeks has always been church, and this Sunday is no different. We brave early morning traffic and unsure directions to finally make it to a gathering of Christians that could very well have been a simple Bible study. The message is about being judgmental, and I identify. The pastor and his wife are also members of the same organization as us, so we spend our afternoon at a seafood restaurant with most gorgeous seaside view I've ever seen.
Overall, not that exciting, but there's nothing better than fellowship and food with good friends.
Day 9:
Here we come, the final day. Some disappointing things happened to bring our kayaking trip to this point in time, but we still set out after breakfast, seeing the ache of arms in our future. I grab a purple ended oar, and drag a hopefully sea-worthy vessel to the licking edge. Push off, and the water rolls under with all the thunder of an infant cradle. About twenty minutes later, this was not the case. I'm called abruptly back with an island giant staring me down. So, our self-sustained boat trip was kept pretty short, but as in my orange plastic raft, part of the fun is going with the flow.
The rest of the day is layered with the theme of our entire vacation: reading, swimming, and general relaxation. A final respite before the realization that we have to spend eleven straight hours in the car tomorrow.
Now:
In the aftermath of all this, I'm pretty content. I realized that in Chiang Mai I was spending too much time for assuring closure with the multitude of friends that I soon am leaving behind, and I wasn't spending enough time to assure closure with my beloved family members that will leave behind a more consistent hole than most of my friends could.
Monday, January 25, 2010
The trilogy.
Fumbled explanations, idle chatter, and paralyzing fear.
1.
I pick up the blog baton once again after a short hiatus, and it feels better than it should to be writing again. I tell myself that I'm keeping me accountable for the creation of productive new words every day, but it's mostly because I miss intentionally spilling my brain's content over an unsuspecting computer screen. It just feels good to vent sometimes, as I'm sure you'll find room to agree. I suppose in my last post I gave a warning about the possibility of me never posting again, but you probably didn't believe it, and your doubt has paid off.
I think I didn't want to write anymore because I was afraid. Mind you, this isn't the one spoken of in the trilogy, but we'll get there. I was afraid because of the wasted strands of emotional energy draping themselves over a pointless exercise. I come to struggle [again] with the question of why I even use this blog, and although you're probably tired of it, you'd be surprised to find how heavy a question such as that weighs on the mind. But the other priorities weigh heavier, I tell myself. Hence the reason for me taking the break, to clear the mind, quench the soul, and soak the imagination.
Did I succeed? I certainly hope that you'll be able to tell the differences in a few months, but for now I'll leave you with this: explosions are imminent. Replace any sense of foreboding or anticipation with nonchalance; it won't matter until it happens, but when it does, you will know.
2.
The swelter of Thailand returns as unwelcome as ever a guest in the city, but I've come to doubt he ever left. In fact, he was only resting over the blanket of clouds above until he was to make his scorching return, as the wet spots on my shirt can certainly testify. Talking about the weather seems idle, since it doesn't often change, but I suppose it makes it all the more mention-worthy when it does. Poor swelter, feeling lonely and left out. There, there.
3.
The days are growing thinner, starved of certain happiness and replaced with empty fear. It's a difficult thing to swallow, and they often choke. It's this paralyzing fear that I also regularly chew on, and it fills the stomach with dread. Depressing metaphors aside, it's the ever growing 'promise' of a new life that threatens to gobble me whole. I don't mind picking up the pieces and starting over, but I can't start over without dropping a few too many of those pieces, and that's what frightens me. I've grown to acclimate myself at least adroitly enough to new surroundings when I'm similarly surrounded by people who share some of the same backgrounds as I. When not, I'm afraid I don't fare so well. Or, maybe I shouldn't be so pessimistic. I haven't fared well yet.
Pessimism is an easy commodity to come by these days, and if I told you that I hadn't been buying any, I would also be selling lies. Former glories and future accomplishments are quite the shallow grave to bury myself in, with dirt made of apathy. I've never been one to see the big picture, and I don't intend on starting now, even if it means looking outside of the coffin. I suppose the only thing keeping me energized is the sense of love I've found from the wonderful people around me, which makes me all the more reluctant to leave, but such is the life of the missionary. But, onward, optimistic thinking.
Things to look forward to:
- New creative ideas
- The bond of new friendships, on all different levels
- The passage of becoming a man
- A smaller world, and ties kept strong
Those sentiments just about encompass, albeit simply, everything that college life is going to offer me, but I have no idea how the fulfillment of them is going to play out, and if there are any more bullet points on the horizon.
I will definitely keep this updated, and hopefully your next reading journey will be slightly more pleasant (but with the state of my writings skills, I severely doubt it) .
- Ben, the traveler
1.
I pick up the blog baton once again after a short hiatus, and it feels better than it should to be writing again. I tell myself that I'm keeping me accountable for the creation of productive new words every day, but it's mostly because I miss intentionally spilling my brain's content over an unsuspecting computer screen. It just feels good to vent sometimes, as I'm sure you'll find room to agree. I suppose in my last post I gave a warning about the possibility of me never posting again, but you probably didn't believe it, and your doubt has paid off.
I think I didn't want to write anymore because I was afraid. Mind you, this isn't the one spoken of in the trilogy, but we'll get there. I was afraid because of the wasted strands of emotional energy draping themselves over a pointless exercise. I come to struggle [again] with the question of why I even use this blog, and although you're probably tired of it, you'd be surprised to find how heavy a question such as that weighs on the mind. But the other priorities weigh heavier, I tell myself. Hence the reason for me taking the break, to clear the mind, quench the soul, and soak the imagination.
Did I succeed? I certainly hope that you'll be able to tell the differences in a few months, but for now I'll leave you with this: explosions are imminent. Replace any sense of foreboding or anticipation with nonchalance; it won't matter until it happens, but when it does, you will know.
2.
The swelter of Thailand returns as unwelcome as ever a guest in the city, but I've come to doubt he ever left. In fact, he was only resting over the blanket of clouds above until he was to make his scorching return, as the wet spots on my shirt can certainly testify. Talking about the weather seems idle, since it doesn't often change, but I suppose it makes it all the more mention-worthy when it does. Poor swelter, feeling lonely and left out. There, there.
3.
The days are growing thinner, starved of certain happiness and replaced with empty fear. It's a difficult thing to swallow, and they often choke. It's this paralyzing fear that I also regularly chew on, and it fills the stomach with dread. Depressing metaphors aside, it's the ever growing 'promise' of a new life that threatens to gobble me whole. I don't mind picking up the pieces and starting over, but I can't start over without dropping a few too many of those pieces, and that's what frightens me. I've grown to acclimate myself at least adroitly enough to new surroundings when I'm similarly surrounded by people who share some of the same backgrounds as I. When not, I'm afraid I don't fare so well. Or, maybe I shouldn't be so pessimistic. I haven't fared well yet.
Pessimism is an easy commodity to come by these days, and if I told you that I hadn't been buying any, I would also be selling lies. Former glories and future accomplishments are quite the shallow grave to bury myself in, with dirt made of apathy. I've never been one to see the big picture, and I don't intend on starting now, even if it means looking outside of the coffin. I suppose the only thing keeping me energized is the sense of love I've found from the wonderful people around me, which makes me all the more reluctant to leave, but such is the life of the missionary. But, onward, optimistic thinking.
Things to look forward to:
- New creative ideas
- The bond of new friendships, on all different levels
- The passage of becoming a man
- A smaller world, and ties kept strong
Those sentiments just about encompass, albeit simply, everything that college life is going to offer me, but I have no idea how the fulfillment of them is going to play out, and if there are any more bullet points on the horizon.
I will definitely keep this updated, and hopefully your next reading journey will be slightly more pleasant (but with the state of my writings skills, I severely doubt it) .
- Ben, the traveler
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
So this is the new year..
I was beginning to convince myself never to set foot in this dreadful place again, but the creator in me wouldn't allow it. These memoirs are filled with past failings and the blunders of an ill-controlled pen, and there's something about the promise of a new year that brings a desire for a clean slate, as it were. Ironically, the motivation that drives me to fill this page is the simple push to get one more blog in before the complete end of the year. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Christmas is all but a distant memory, but it would be inconsiderate of me not to fill you in on the details. Although the sentiments of remembering the birth of a Savior paint beautiful pictures, I'm afraid there are far too many of us who view Christmas as a short diversion before denial sets in because you have to face life, one more year, once again. Although I participated in more Christmas oriented activities than usual, something still felt quite lacking in the way of holiday spirit. I decorated cookies, went Christmas caroling, bought a few gifts, and went through any other usual motions. Despite all of the commercialism, I think there's at least a glimmer of hope to be found in the usually empty secular rendition of Christmas: The concept of families putting aside their differences to all come together for a simple holiday. Our family doesn't have such monumental differences, but the fact that my older sister wasn't with us for Christmas for the first time completely changed the dynamic, and made our hearts just a little emptier.
I probably shouldn't waste too much time musing, but after all, this is a return to former glory. Our family does most of the Christmas festivities Christmas Eve, so by the time Christmas actually comes around, usually the only thing we have left to do is eat. And eat we do, for this year we went over to my aunt and uncle's house to partake in a glorious feast prepared by mastermind cooks. I am absolutely positive that my stomach has been subject to entirely too much good food, and therefore, suffering. I guess all good things must come to a [merciful] end, but only to make way for something entirely new.
Which brings me to the place I've often mulled about: The corridor in which one year changes into the next. In most cases, the year will have no need to fit new clothing, but for some, appearances may change entirely. My personal transformation from year to year, like any normal person, has taken place very gradually. I could imagine an entire time line of the elemental gifts discovered in consecutive years that have made me the person I am today, but I dare not digress with monotony. I can only shiver with anticipation to the beholding of new discoveries; a new gift.
My person would be nothing without the shaping experiences pushed forward by the most amazing and influential people that I've ever met. I have no aspirations toward speech-writing, but I can guarantee that without these people, my position would be fetal and my outlook, pathetic. Quite a few of them will never read this, but for those that do, I can't thank you enough.
There's a certain song* that brings about this thoughtful sentiment:
So this is the new year
and I have no resolutions
for self assigned penance
for problems with easy solutions
It's a sentiment that I tend to agree with, because most oftentimes, the easy solution to any problem is you yourself. But despite the worthlessness of most New Year's resolutions, I have set forth a few hopefully modest expectations, even though I fear that this coming year will be too erratic to even consider setting expectations. Nevertheless, I can't give up on anything resembling guidelines, so here is my attempt.
First and foremost, I would like to regain a focus on God in my life. It's often said that the first love is lost, and must be regained again, however, He's still very much a part of my life. I've just relegated Him to a place much too low. I have a few ideas on how I'm going to accomplish this in a practical way, but I would rather not set myself up for failure. I also get the feeling that the time I spend on the computer, and listening to music, and watching movies, is hampering my productivity. So in addition to a renewed focus, I'm also craving a fresh vision for new and simmering ideas. I'm feeling a novel on the horizon, if my senses aren't too out of whack.
Ah, but one visor remains. ** As per the usual, I would also like to get in physical shape. But lets not get ahead of ourselves here, shall we?
So, I've already set up a few goals for myself, which hopefully won't lead me towards entrapment, but there are also a few factors that are out of my control that have led me to much prayer. If every new year brings about some degree of change in a person's life, then this year must really have its sights on devouring me whole with possibilities.
I had plans to write quite a bit more, but I think I can leave it at that. Happy New Year to all fellow bloggers, and stay off the vodka.
P.S. A simple warning, I have doubts on whether or not I'll post here, ever again. We shall see what my outlook and schedule holds for me in the next couple of months, but I would hate to commit to anything.
* = Death Cab For Cutie, The New Year
** = Much Ado About Nothing, William Shakespeare. Learn it, love it, live it.
Christmas is all but a distant memory, but it would be inconsiderate of me not to fill you in on the details. Although the sentiments of remembering the birth of a Savior paint beautiful pictures, I'm afraid there are far too many of us who view Christmas as a short diversion before denial sets in because you have to face life, one more year, once again. Although I participated in more Christmas oriented activities than usual, something still felt quite lacking in the way of holiday spirit. I decorated cookies, went Christmas caroling, bought a few gifts, and went through any other usual motions. Despite all of the commercialism, I think there's at least a glimmer of hope to be found in the usually empty secular rendition of Christmas: The concept of families putting aside their differences to all come together for a simple holiday. Our family doesn't have such monumental differences, but the fact that my older sister wasn't with us for Christmas for the first time completely changed the dynamic, and made our hearts just a little emptier.
I probably shouldn't waste too much time musing, but after all, this is a return to former glory. Our family does most of the Christmas festivities Christmas Eve, so by the time Christmas actually comes around, usually the only thing we have left to do is eat. And eat we do, for this year we went over to my aunt and uncle's house to partake in a glorious feast prepared by mastermind cooks. I am absolutely positive that my stomach has been subject to entirely too much good food, and therefore, suffering. I guess all good things must come to a [merciful] end, but only to make way for something entirely new.
Which brings me to the place I've often mulled about: The corridor in which one year changes into the next. In most cases, the year will have no need to fit new clothing, but for some, appearances may change entirely. My personal transformation from year to year, like any normal person, has taken place very gradually. I could imagine an entire time line of the elemental gifts discovered in consecutive years that have made me the person I am today, but I dare not digress with monotony. I can only shiver with anticipation to the beholding of new discoveries; a new gift.
My person would be nothing without the shaping experiences pushed forward by the most amazing and influential people that I've ever met. I have no aspirations toward speech-writing, but I can guarantee that without these people, my position would be fetal and my outlook, pathetic. Quite a few of them will never read this, but for those that do, I can't thank you enough.
There's a certain song* that brings about this thoughtful sentiment:
So this is the new year
and I have no resolutions
for self assigned penance
for problems with easy solutions
It's a sentiment that I tend to agree with, because most oftentimes, the easy solution to any problem is you yourself. But despite the worthlessness of most New Year's resolutions, I have set forth a few hopefully modest expectations, even though I fear that this coming year will be too erratic to even consider setting expectations. Nevertheless, I can't give up on anything resembling guidelines, so here is my attempt.
First and foremost, I would like to regain a focus on God in my life. It's often said that the first love is lost, and must be regained again, however, He's still very much a part of my life. I've just relegated Him to a place much too low. I have a few ideas on how I'm going to accomplish this in a practical way, but I would rather not set myself up for failure. I also get the feeling that the time I spend on the computer, and listening to music, and watching movies, is hampering my productivity. So in addition to a renewed focus, I'm also craving a fresh vision for new and simmering ideas. I'm feeling a novel on the horizon, if my senses aren't too out of whack.
Ah, but one visor remains. ** As per the usual, I would also like to get in physical shape. But lets not get ahead of ourselves here, shall we?
So, I've already set up a few goals for myself, which hopefully won't lead me towards entrapment, but there are also a few factors that are out of my control that have led me to much prayer. If every new year brings about some degree of change in a person's life, then this year must really have its sights on devouring me whole with possibilities.
I had plans to write quite a bit more, but I think I can leave it at that. Happy New Year to all fellow bloggers, and stay off the vodka.
P.S. A simple warning, I have doubts on whether or not I'll post here, ever again. We shall see what my outlook and schedule holds for me in the next couple of months, but I would hate to commit to anything.
* = Death Cab For Cutie, The New Year
** = Much Ado About Nothing, William Shakespeare. Learn it, love it, live it.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
The right and noble Claudio is quite tired.
Well, it's been a little while. At least I did warn you about the length between posts.
I'm writing right now in the heat of everything. Remember that lil' old blog near the beginning of my blogging tenure about the Bard? Well, guess what? We perform our Shakespeare play this weekend and have been practicing hours on end, every single day for the entire week.
Thankfully, I do not have to play two characters like I might have, which is a relief, because the one character that I do have is very emotionally overbearing. Last night I was so exhausted that I went to bed as soon as I came home.
Anyway, that's really all that's on my mind at the moment. Prayers are appreciated.
-Ben
I'm writing right now in the heat of everything. Remember that lil' old blog near the beginning of my blogging tenure about the Bard? Well, guess what? We perform our Shakespeare play this weekend and have been practicing hours on end, every single day for the entire week.
Thankfully, I do not have to play two characters like I might have, which is a relief, because the one character that I do have is very emotionally overbearing. Last night I was so exhausted that I went to bed as soon as I came home.
Anyway, that's really all that's on my mind at the moment. Prayers are appreciated.
-Ben
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
