Is this the part where you let go?

Today marks about a month. A month of living in the United States of America again, and a month of living without the life I came to love, adore, and live comfortably and cozy in. What has come of me, I wonder? And perhaps you do too. Which is why I'll write.

There is a song I've been listening to on repeat, and it speaks of the places in which you've lived, where you've laid your head, and of holding half an acre. I think of the acre of Thailand I hold, and will always, tight in whitened knuckles.



As for my acre? My acre is green, vast, and alive. My acre is not like anything I'd ever known, but it proved as welcoming as they come. I made some friends upon this acre. Some hung my laundry, others brewed me coffee when I was low, some sold me water and milk. Some of them even watched me cry, sat with me at the edge of my bed, and later made me laugh to better tears. I made a family there, and have been lonely for them. I've been lonely for little voices who mispronounce my name. Oh, what an acre. I've wanted to know the scent of that land deeply again. To take in it's fresh and lively perfumes that offered me great energy, that changed me, grew me. Is this the part where I let go? I'm certain I can't, and won't. I'll imagine the acre in my mind. And in the mean time, I'll explore this new acre of life ahead of me. It's budding with energy, and it seems to be beckoning me. Another half an acre of Ohio will simply have to do.

Oh, the acres knitted together. What a beautiful landscape, our life!

Somewhere over the earth.

I’ve returned from an exotic place I’ve been, and it’s a bit strange to speak of a ‘big adventure’ that has turned quickly from coconuts and calm to my knees sunk deep in Ohio snow. But, yes! This is adventure, too. So I’ve come to write.

What is the odyssey that has been coming home? My bed isn’t as stiff as it should be, my trips to grab a bite have become 10 miles too long, and the little voices that once called on me each morning fade more and more each moment. But I have come home. And I recall longing desperately for home, and all its comfort and familiarities. But it seems that I am someone I haven’t always been, and for this reason all is not what I expected. Is it ever?

When I stepped off the plane I remember thinking ‘Business, blue tooths, and Burger King’- this is what America is all about. But I realized the importance of putting on a lens in which I seek the beauty in this place. And I have indeed found it, in much time. There are friends whose arms reach lengths for me, family whose hearts seek to understand, there is a library where I can read and learn and grow, there are benches heaped in powder from the sky. Ohio is beautiful!

I’ve been waiting for and wanting a definition of home to offer you, but it hasn’t been coming easily. Is it the place you feel most comfortable? Perhaps. It’s where your family is? Well, now let’s define family. Is it where you come from? In this case, my home is Oklahoma. I’m not satisfied.

Now, I’m usually a bit of an editor. But because of all the energy I’ve sought in making something of ‘home’, with no luck, this will be a time in which I just write whatever comes. So bear with me! And read slowly, for it’s how I write.

Where the depths of sighs resound
and are heard
Tears caught in hands unclasped
Smiles recognized
Despite wrinkles that have come to rest aside them
Feet find their places to walk
and shoes to fill
Words nestle up to conversation
comfortably, anywhere

It’s where you’ve been all along
The part of you
With no name
no marker.
Always skimming
the lining that is home.

I am the tide!

Reaching for unfamiliar shores, I stretch myself thin across tan sands. For a time, I'm challenged and new- found wholly myself. The sun warms the beads inside of me, and I am alive!

But soon I'm found gripping and slipping land, I'm pulled, receding quickly. Unready to leave this newfound home, gravity invites me back to a place I once knew, and I choose to be enveloped willingly, for I know I'm leaving pieces of myself, and the land will not forget me. And I rest assured that the tide must always come in again!

Note from Laos.

The act of travel. (Dec. 30)

I’ve found a great adoration for traveling. Not the visiting of a place, which I too enjoy, but rather, the way in which we journey from one place to another. To be still and moving, gazing out a window pane, whether by bus or train, this is traveling. It’s viewing beauty that moves. It paints a picture inside our hearts, leaving a permanent impression upon us.

Traveling to Laos, this is what I saw. I admired the people for living with so little, while hoping in their health and happiness. I saw children working who should have been in school. But this is their inheritance, so drastically different than my own.

The landscape, breathtaking, affirmed my belief in a great maker who thought up this world; his attention to detail proving greater than any artist to be studied. And a great red ball tucked between a few clouds shone just enough to take in a few more breaths of the hillside.

And to meet eyes for a brief moment with one of these pieces, to interact with the picture, that is a feeling matchless. To be found out, to be forever connected to a place and time, to hold that glimpse forever somewhere in the boxes of memories we keep. I am a part of this place now! Halfway around the world, I reflect an image, a memory, to them, outside my window.

To view moving art, become a part of the piece, if I’m lucky, this is the kind of travel I’ve come to like.

A bit of nostalgia in pictures.

Goodbye, goodbye to everyone, it was nice to have you here!

Oh, if you didn’t know, I’m a list maker. I love to make to-do lists, and with the plethora of work I’ve had these past few weeks at work, I once even managed to make a to-do list for my to-do lists. The point is, I have planned on making lists of what I’ll miss, and what I’m looking forward to back home, for a while now. I often think to myself, “man, I’ll miss this, or gosh, I can’t wait to see this person,” so alas, my lists shall come to fruition today. I’ll keep ‘em at 10 bullet points for your sake.

Tears of sadness may be shed because I will miss. . .

1. Singing kiddie songs to the little ones including ‘the clean up song’, ‘who are the people in your neighborhood?’, all of the color songs, and ‘goodbye, goodbye to everyone.’
2. Daily sunshine. There wasn’t a day without it this entire year, I’m sure of it.
3. Greeting people with wais.
4. Working barefoot.
5. Being surrounded by the beautiful, inspiring things and people that are Thailand.
6. The rubber tree plantations that I’m convinced hold magical capabilities.
7. My terrific co-workers who get me, my humor, and who have allowed me to become part of their family.
8. Receiving/delivering encouraging and loving snail mail from/to dearest friends.
9. Two hour massages that go for $9 U.S. dollars.
10. Students calling me by names such as, Kru Hilaria, Hilaleen, Helen, and my personal favorite, Halloween.
11. Okay one more... his name is Dtin Dtin!



I might just cry for joy because I can’t wait to. . .

1. Flush toilets with a handle.
2. Delight myself in Ohio snow.
3. Hug my mom, my dad, my brother, and my sweet, sweet, friends who I haven’t seen for an entire year! Yikes!
4. Live a life sans mosquitoes, little red ants that bite, and other creatures that make life a little too uncomfortable.
5. Stuff my face with some good Western food whilst drinking delicious beer.
6. Go to the museum on Sunday.
7. Have the ability to walk out the front door and go for a jog.
8. See some delightful live music. Mmm!
9. Be with my Peacemakers again.
10. Reminisce on Thailand over good coffee.

The end of an era.

I have been a poor son of a blogger these past few months. I began many a blog/writing/note, yet my words never made it from paper to screen. But it isn't too late! I have seven days to catch you up on some observations, experiences, and other things I've written on as the time has gone by. I'll be sure to include the date of these little things, and I'll try to visit daily. Come travel back in time with me.

Voices (December 14, 2009)

Nestled in a corner upon a ferry island-bound, notes of dreamy voices from a distant place and time lulled me fast asleep. I saw golden temples bustling with orange robed monks, locals kneeling, hands prayerfully high for Siddartha. Incense offerings even blew through the boat cabin. I inched my eyes open a few moments later only to be delighted that in fact, I wasn’t dreaming up these spiritual sounds. Aged Thai lovers chanted prayers to one another quietly, a perfect companion to my sleep.