– JUNE – A JOURNEY THROUGH PEOPLE PART 2

When I was about 14 years old, I met a tomboy named June. She lived just about 200 meters away from the house we were staying. It was a tough summer for her – emotionally speaking. She was 16 and going through heartbreak. She caught her girlfriend in a sexual act with another tomboy on the last day of school. Every day, I would drop by their house to check up on her. Most days I would catch her smoking and crying. Some days, I would catch her deeply cutting herself over and over again in one arm. She would let the cuts heal and then cut them again. This went on for months.

On the last week of summer, I saw her ex-girlfriend for the first time in person walking around our neighborhood. “She isn’t pretty at all and doesn’t even look like a nice person” I thought to myself. For months, when I hear the news that June saw her ex, I would run to her house to make sure she wasn’t torturing herself again.

But that day was different. I went to June’s house to check up on her and to my surprise, she was happy. She wasn’t cutting her newly healed arm or smoking. I remember staring into her eyes and seeing them alive for the first time the whole summer. She was smiling genuinely.

“What happened?” I asked.

“We talked. I’m not hurting and I don’t like her anymore. She is chewing gum so loudly and she has bad breath. I am so turned off.” We laughed.

I never saw June again after that summer. But the questions that ran through my mind as a 14-year-old who witnessed those events still pop up in my mind in different  situations and aspects in life:

“Why are we not contemplating first if something is worth it? Why do people almost instantly choose to put their selves through pain and waste so much time dwelling on a disappointment or heartache that we know for sure will pass maybe even sooner than we think or we probably could learn to live with and laugh at in the future?”

This pain you’re feeling, before you sink into it, why won’t you ask yourself over and over again first – “Is it worth it and what is the point?”

 

A journey through people – Part 1

I think with all the travelling we do we forget that sometimes the most wonderful and insightful journeys we can experience are through people – through getting to know them on a deep level, so deep that you learn their most intimate secrets. Although of course, we will never know everything about anyone unless we step inside their brains. 

Over the years, I’ve met and have become friends with unusual people who are in unusual circumstances. I have seen others judge them without trying to understand where they are coming from. I suppose it is so easy to judge or write tips and tricks for a happy life when you’re not stepping on the same shoes or when you’re that far detached from other people’s experiences and emotions.

I’ve decided to write about them, including myself actually, in a different perspective in an effort to better understand people and what drives them to do the things they do, however shallow or profound. I’ve come up with a list of questions for them which perhaps some of you may answer –  and have named every person after a star or a constellation because after all, don’t we all somehow bring brightness in other people’s lives?

ALUDRA

Aludra, you are a sweet, young, and well educated woman who just arrived at a different city with the help of a friend. She helps you find a job and a place to stay. She introduces you to people so you won’t be lonely. She eats with you every lunch break and shares her food with you even when you don’t ask. You ask her if she can buy you an ice cream one day which she does. Eventually you start asking people in the office to buy you something when they get a promotion, a salary increase, or on their birthdays. You ignore the people who refuse. Once a month you demand that your boyfriend send you all his earnings and you demand an explanation as to why he has to send money to his family too. You and your friend slowly drift away. One day you see her crying her eyes out, bawling but you ignore her.

She was crying because of you – you have spread unimaginable lies to her relatives and in-laws, you provoked her housemates who also became your friends through her, to rebuff her to the point that she and her husband had to move to another place. You were asked to explain, given a chance to apologize but you refused. You said you were only telling the truth. But you weren’t. She has done nothing wrong to you or to anyone so why would you want to hurt your friend who has helped you establish yourself in a different country? What is it inside of you that makes you think you are doing the right thing? What is lacking in your life and does this thing you do fill the void?

ALTAIR

Altair. You are quiet but incredibly sweet and caring to your friends. You’re smart and full of potential but you fail to see that. You refuse to see that. You settle for a little less because you think that’s all there is for you right now. But I suppose this could also be because you don’t make the smartest choices in life – you ran around with a seriously wrong group of people and now you’ve decided it’s a good idea to become close with a married young woman. After all, there’s no harm in having new friends, right? She listens to you without judgment and you like to talk to her for that reason. For you, it’s normal to text her when you’re with a group of friends and she’s right in front of you, to watch how she reacts at your messages. You always quietly manage to corner her and have her only to yourself. You convince yourself that you have to treat her the way she treats you – just a normal friend. You try but you don’t know that everyone sees it – your extra efforts to be with her a little longer, the way your face lights up every time you see her and the way disappointment sweeps over your face when you realize her face doesn’t light up when she sees you, she doesn’t look at you the same way you look at her. She laughs at you when you tell her you want to see her and she invites everyone every time. She becomes busy once again, oblivious to the fact that for months you wait for her and look for her in places you know she goes to. You’re too scared to call, to proud to send a text message first yet you come scrambling when she says Hello. Why do you do this? What do you get from looking at her knowing anything you do will lead you nowhere? What do you gain from choosing a perplexing friendship with someone you can never have?

ALHENA

Alhena you are another very well educated woman, you are one of a kind in your industry – passionate, sincere, self-less. Growing up you were protected and loved. It was almost a perfect family and upbringing, you wanted for nothing yet you didn’t become spoiled. You take care of everyone around you. and when you love, you love with all your heart. You are also intelligent and so you get easily frustrated. You experienced true love once but you gave up on it, telling everyone you were too young then to understand. You got your heart broken a few more times and then you decided to be with a married man. Why would you throw yourself away like this? To a married man who doesn’t even treat you right? Why do you choose to hurt yourself? Why would you reject the sincere, nonjudgmental help of your family and friends who love you dearly? What is it that you want to prove to yourself? What is it that you’re trying so hard to hold on to?

POLLUX

Pollux, you are a wise, funny and incredibly kind man. You can be everyone’s best friend. You work hard for your family and for your future. Occasionally, you treat yourself to little things. You give everyone what they need, a shoulder to cry on, someone to listen or make them laugh. You are that constantly, reliable friend that everyone needs. But in our eyes, you fail to be a friend to yourself. You try a little harder in life sometimes but then for some reason, you pull back. Retreat seems to be your instinct at the first sign of hardship. Sometimes, we wish we can drag you to where you want to go. Why do you never go after the things or people you want? Why do you choose to spend hours day dreaming of things that are completely possible in real life? Why are you so afraid of stepping out into the world and giving it your best? What is it that’s hiding behind the pretense of laziness and procrastination? And most importantly, what makes you think you have time?

The only thing we can control is ourselves

I jumped off from my bed and checked my body for blood. “I’m fine. I’m not wounded” I said. I didn’t hear an emergency call so I went straight to the bathroom to get ready for work. It was 6:00. I was awakened by an explosion.

I got called for a job in a city in North Africa at a time of destabilization. Was I afraid? No. It was a job I had to do in hopes of growing and learning everything that is out there for me to learn. Also, I didn’t have a better choice at that point in my life.

We stayed in a hotel that’s almost run-down. Every now and then we get sand storms so I sleep in a bed full of sand. I think sleeping in a bed full of sand is way better than not having a bed or not having water supply for several hours, several days a week or having water supply but it is brown in color. I think sleeping in sand is better than having to work in a run-down hotel when you’re only about 11 years old.

We leave our hotel at 6:35. The offices were set up in abandoned houses in an abandoned village guarded by soldiers (who couldn’t really do much if they decided to just throw grenades at us). Anyway, work starts at 7:00 sharp.

I disliked going on the company van. If it were allowed and if I wouldn’t get abducted and harassed to death, I would walk my way to and from work. The energy of the people in the bus is the heaviest downer one could possibly take – so sullen, so full of quiet complaints, so ungrateful, arrogant yet exhausted. In some ways, it was difficult to blame them.  They have been living this imbalanced life for years and there is no end in sight.

As soon as we arrived at the office, talks about the explosion started. Some were sure it was a bomb, some said it was a crane that went down. To me, it didn’t matter.

I went to the site immediately. Staying at the office is much more toxic for me than being out there, exposed in direct sunlight and heat. I asked around about the gunshots I heard several days ago – turns out it was on the news that several people belonging to a certain group of religion were deliberately targeted and killed.

I spent the rest of the day – about 13 hours- working as usual, taking small breaks to enjoy the view – to look at what could possibly be so beautiful if mankind weren’t so horrible. I take in the history of the city. I walked the paths of people who made huge, significant changes in the history of the world more than 2000 years ago.

I looked directly at the sun and took in as much energy as I can and thought to myself – I get to be here. I am here. I get to work. I get to learn – that sometimes pursuit of knowledge is not the answer, that sometimes the answers lie on the simplest things, maybe on those closest to our hearts. I get to learn that when we decide on some thing we want, we must stick to it, no matter what. And I get to eat, I am never hungry. I get to live every single day, I get to survive. My loved ones are safe and healthy, they are far from all of these. There is absolutely nothing to complain about, absolutely nothing to be afraid of, nothing.

I get on the bus and look at the faces of the people, morose, just dragging themselves through every single day. I wish they would accept that they can choose to be happy no matter where they are or what they do. They can have peace deep inside because after all, the only thing we can control is ourselves. If we have that control, no matter how chaotic the world around us may become, we will remain at peace.

I sat at the far end of the bus. Once everybody were seated, I barked which solicited laughter and a boink, then a meow and a moo from random people. Everybody laughed and started singing with hopeful voices – hopeful that it will all be over soon. We will all soon come back home.

 

 

Love?

It’s another one of those mornings. You wake up with a little light peeking through your heavy curtains. You stretch your foot slowly to feel if someone is beside you. There isn’t.  You wrap yourself in a duvet to cover up the loneliness.

At the corner of the bedroom, you button up your shirt while you watch her stretch her foot out and cover herself in a duvet. You leave for work without saying good bye.

You jump off from your bed as soon as you hear him leave. You shake it off, whatever it is you’re feeling. You take a long shower and get yourself ready for school, for work, anything that will keep you busy.

You sit in the office contemplating whether you should come home early. You remember the times when you were excited to come home. She would eagerly wait by the door to hug you and to take your coat off. You remember her eager smile, that smile takes all the tiredness away. You don’t see that anymore.

You cut short the fun you’re having with your friends because you need to go home. You wonder when did “I will pick you up wherever you are so we can come home together.” turn to “Okay see you there.” Regardless, you have to be home, standing by the door when he comes. It’s your routine. It’s what perfect partners do, you remind yourself. You remember there was a time when you were excited to hear him come home, just the sound of him parking his car outside makes you so happy. Now, it’s exhausting. It almost feels like a job you hate to do.

You park your car and stay inside a little longer. For some reason, you feel that you have to prepare yourself before you go inside the house. You doubted if she would be by the door but she is. She hugs you coldly then takes your jacket off without looking at you. She solemnly tells you dinner is ready.

You see something lying on the floor that you hate so much to see – scattered shoes. You hate this about her. You’ve asked her several times to clean up after herself but she still doesn’t do it. You sat down on the dining table. I don’t want to do this again, you tell yourself. You hate to start an argument.

You stare at her as she eats quietly. Her eyes look tired. She looks exhausted. She laughs softly on a video she saw from her phone. You realized you haven’t heard her genuinely laugh for a long time too. You take a deep breath then start a conversation.

It’s the same thing. He’s talking about the same thing again. You try so hard to focus on what he’s talking about and not let your mind drift away. You’re a good listener; yes that’s what you are. You think about the times when conversations weren’t forced, weren’t about money or who is going to do this and that.

You hear him laugh which amuses you. What is funny?  And when was the last time he made you laugh? You don’t remember. But you do remember when he would do absolutely everything for you, to make you smile, to make you happy. You remember when you loved to listen to his voice and when the silence between you was full of warmth and comfort, not full of tension and burden. His voice is so annoying now that you almost can’t stand his presence.

You’re out of things to say. You can’t seem to find a common interest anymore. She’s inattentive. She obviously doesn’t care. You noticed that she moved the sofa to another spot. You talked about doing it together. When did you stop doing things together? Your eyes fall on the scattered shoes. You can’t take it anymore. Everything is a mess every time you come home.

“What did you do today? Why are your shoes all over the floor.”

“I will clean it up.”

“No, I will do it.“

“I will do it. Those are MY shoes.”

“Let me. I do everything here anyway.”  You realize you’ve now been shouting at her for 10 minutes. She wouldn’t say anything anymore. You say the most painful things you could say to get something out of her, a reaction, anything.

You try your best to stay calm and quiet. You don’t want to say anything you would regret. You know that if you say how you truly feel, he will be crushed and you don’t want that. It will haunt you for the rest of your life if you hurt his feelings. But he wouldn’t stop; he just would not shut up. You say something back. Something you know would crush him. He deserves this. You walk out and lock yourself inside your room.

There she goes again, locking herself up in the bedroom. It was painful, what she said. It hurt everything especially your ego. You knock on her door and shout something more offensive, she’s a terrible partner, she’s useless, and anything else you can think of. She remains quiet. You knock on her door for more than an hour, your demanding tone gradually becomes begging.

You don’t want to do this anymore. You hate to argue. You regret every word you say the moment it leaves your mouth.

You suddenly hear her crying. Why did you have to be like this? Why did you make her cry? You hate yourself.

No one has ever made you cry like this before. You’ve never been hurt. You don’t deserve this, you tell yourself.  He promised to love you, to take care of you. You hear him begging for you to open the door, saying sorry over and over again, asking to hug you but you don’t want to be touched. I’m done. I’m done, you say.

You tremble at the thought of her leaving you. You’ve never heard her cry like this before. Why did I have to be the one to hurt the love of my life? How could I have hurt her so much?

You wake up with the decision to leave, to break up.  You sign the divorce papers. You know you would never love a man like this again. But you also know you can’t go through the same thing over and over. You refuse to be hurt again.  This house is now too congested for you. This isn’t home any longer. You take a long walk outside, hoping to breathe fresh air in the park.

You struggle to think of things to keep her. You rush to buy everything she likes, her favourite food, her favourite things, everything. You want to surprise her like the old days. Maybe this isn’t a good time but you’re desperate to be forgiven, to not lose her. You write a long letter because you know she doesn’t like talking. You cry your heart out begging the heavens to not take her away from you.

You’re trembling as you walk up to your house. Please be there, please be there. You slowly open the door. You see her standing there, looking at you meaningfully. She takes your jacket. You hug her. You look around and see her scattered shoes and pieces of torn paper.

You smile and have dinner quietly, together.

A picture of THEM.

Green eyes, light brown hair, pale skin and freckles on the nose blocking the sunlight were the first things I saw when I opened my eyes. It startled me.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to be creepy. The high tide is coming in, the water will get to your towel soon.”

I looked at the beach.  Indeed, the high tide was coming in. I didn’t know how long I have been sleeping on my towel at the beach. I couldn’t surf the next morning after my 8 hour session on my first day. My muscles felt like overcooked noodles and I had deep sunburns.

I decided to rest the whole day.  I started walking back to the streets while thinking about how I would schedule the rest of my weeks until someone tapped me on the back.

Why are you still following me? I asked.

Let’s go grab lunch at the nearest curry place. They said.

We went to grab lunch, then snacks, then dinner. The day went by so fast.

I remember walking along the beach for an hour and sitting beside them while watching the sunset. They told me about their life, their work, and their dreams and how different everything is compared to what they hoped for. They showed pictures of past trips and their parents. They were so honest and open. Too comfortable, it’s amusing.

That night, I told myself that I already know this. This feeling is so familiar, the comfort, the thrill of something new.

Over the next few days, we spent time together, surfing, cycling through the small villages, drinking and talking but mostly, sitting in silence.

We would sometimes go out in groups but we would always find a way to sequester ourselves only to sit in silence beside each other, exchanging knowing looks, smiling and laughing over silly things from time to time.

It amuses me how when we see someone for the first time, we instantly feel something strange, something peculiar yet positive and interesting and how much warmth silence can bring. So warm and light that we almost want to tell them everything going on inside our head. And sometimes we do, when we’re sure we will not be judged and when we feel the sincerity of their interest.

But sometimes we don’t say anything at all. We sit there to just listen, to put together the pieces of this big picture called THEM. We drown ourselves in that idea until it’s time to part ways.

“Maybe we’ll see each other again then?”

It hit me. Once again, I know this. I remember something like this has already happened. It’s all too familiar. I’ve heard this question many times before. I’ve looked at the same meaningful eyes. And I remember dragging it out too long until it wasn’t beautiful anymore.

I remember it too clearly – that pestering feeling of wanting to hear from them every day, of checking my phone every minute, those sleepless nights of  overthinking and replaying every scenario in my mind, and the anxiety of wanting to spend time together, of wanting more.

And that difficult, guilty feeling of having to draw the line and the pain of having to blurt out the reality “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

I answered that familiar question with  “Yes. Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

We exchanged numbers but I threw their number away and changed mine. After all, prevention is always better than cure.

I didn’t want to get to know them even more than I already do. I have painted a perfect picture of them inside my head that I didn’t want to change. I want to remember them a certain way – a warm and kind stranger, a friend at one of life’s trying times.

I smiled as I watched them walk away. I knew I would never see them again. I thought about them for a whole night one last time, reminisced and kept solid some beautiful moments. I fell asleep, woke up and moved on.

3 days later, as I was sitting on the beach after a long day of surfing, I got a phone call from a close friend. They asked me if I wanted to join them in Thailand.

I said yes, definitely.

 

Home, beginnings and waves

I got a call from the front desk at 5am in the morning. I asked them to wake me up otherwise I would sleep the whole day.  I stayed in a hut with a thatched roof, bamboo walls and wooden flooring. My bed was made of bamboo and plywood. It was a good 30-minute walk to the beach and 5 minutes with a motorcycle. Motorcycles in Bali are also a form of public transportation, you can rent them or you can hail them. 95% of these bikes have a moped surfboard carrier rack which I find awesome.

I had instant spicy noodles for breakfast. It was the quickest thing I could grab. The sun was set to rise at exactly 6:22 AM. I had to be there.

Do you still remember that anxious feeling on your first day of school? That is how I feel every time I go to a new place all by myself.  Anxious, nervous, excited all at the same time. Will I meet new friends? Will I be one of the best? I need to not be the worst in performance. Is the food good in here? Where is the toilet? Will I be happy? This is a huge world in front of me.

At 6:00 AM I was already standing in front of the beach. While the rest  was just on their way back to their hotels from parties, I was already standing here taking in this magnificent view. I sat quietly for a few minutes at the edge of the shore, just where the water meets the sand, listening to the waves, calming myself, preparing to dive into the water.

I grabbed my board and started to paddle out. My heart was pounding fast. I paddled hard, as hard as I can and went as far out the ocean as I can, then I sat on my board. There it was, the sun, slowly coming up the sky, beaming out golden rays as the clouds made way. I was gently playing with the water as I watched the sunrise. Here it is. It’s a new day.

Some people seek spiritual health, mental silence or emotional clarity through meditation, crying in the mountains, running to the forest, singing and dancing, sweating it out in the gym or the tracks, speeding off the race roads, reading their holy books, going on mission trips and charity events. For me, it’s here, in the ocean.

One touch of the water, one sound of the waves crashing, one breath of the salty air, one look at the waves, one crash upon me, as I roll underneath comes a surge of peace and happiness. Touching the water is divine. Waves are like hugs, equally or in some cases, even more comforting . As the energy of the ocean builds up, so does mine. It will always be exhilarating, it will always feel like it’s the first time. This is home. I am home.

As a technical person who works in the world of science, I strive to understand everything that is happening in my life. I need answers, proof, explanation. But this one thing I don’t dare question. I am happy right here, right now, in the middle of the ocean. I don’t need to understand it all. Nothing else feels this way.  For me, home is two places – anywhere with my family and here, right here in the ocean.

I surfed and swam for more than 8 hours on my first day in Bali. For the last 30 minutes I lay on my board and  floated around as the low tide came.

I walked back to the shore and as I was packing my things, I saw this person a few meters away from me, sitting quietly at the side of a group they obviously were with. Their eyes caught my attention. They smiled at me. I smiled back.

Rust and stains in Jakarta

Let me tell you about that time I travelled to Indonesia.

I arrived in Jakarta at exactly 0830 PM on one of those warm Asian nights. I could have gone out of the airport earlier if my luggage shouldn’t have had to be inspected by the immigration officers for liquor. They shrugged in amusement when they found a bottled water in my luggage.

There was no free internet connection and I decided not to buy a local sim card. It took a while for me to get a taxi. Fortunately, the ride from the airport to my hotel was smooth. It was unusual as the driver said the traffic in Jakarta is horrendous it has become a local axiom that they “get old on the road”.

My hotel is situated in a run-down area in Jakarta, somewhat far from the metropolitan, the business men and tourists infested area. My neighbors were what people called the slum.

The façade of the building was old and dirty. I suppose it was originally painted white, but now it’s brown in most areas with black patches and shadows around windows and the main door.

My room was on the second floor. I had a small veranda. I peeked outside only to see darkness and distant building lights. I opted to just appreciate the view in the morning.

I had a single bed just beside the veranda with a small round coffee table beside it. The air conditioning in my room was not working but they provided me with a little electric fan with steel frames. It was noisy.

Why am I here? Why do I suddenly feel lonely? I asked myself as I lay down on my bed  staring at the ripped and stained ceiling. I drifted off to sleep while my bathtub was rusting away.

I woke up to the sounds of motorcycle taxis or what they call ojek.  0800 AM – still so early. I abruptly looked out of the veranda to see what was going on – the sunlight was blinding. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw the amusing spectacle in front of me.

Patched houses – so many patched houses facing each other, stacked together in every way possible. They were made up of wood scraps and rusted galvanized roofs. Piles of garbage are randomly scattered. The streets were filled with bare footed children rolling and running around. A naked toddler was playing with plastic bags just in front of my hotel. The sidewalk was blocked by endless lines of ojek and old 3-wheeler motorcycles. It was incredibly congested.

The tall buildings of the rich metropolitan serve as this slum area’s backdrop. This bitter reality of our society was painful to look at yet strangely beautiful. I wanted to paint this view and call it The System.

I almost felt upset until I smelled sate in the air. I followed the scent and saw just below my veranda, a few feet away from the hotel entrance  a group of women grilling meat. One of the old ladies gestured for me to come down.

I  realized I had enough money only for two taxi rides – from the airport and to the airport. I went down to the front desk to ask where the closest money exchanger was. The manager told me that he knew a guy who knew a guy who can bring me the money. I had him change money for food, for another taxi ride and for souvenirs. I just had to wait for a little while.

I went outside only to be struck by the heat. It was 34°C / 93.2 °F. I immediately regretted wearing jeans and a button down khaki shirt. I tried to tell the lady I will have to buy food from her  later but she answered me with “No English”.Thus,  I pointed to the guy who will bring me money and rubbed my thumb against my index and middle finger hoping she would get the gesture that it means money then pointed to me. She gave me a thumbs up, took a sate – a strip of meat on a thin bamboo stick, smeared it with sauce then shove it up so close to my face that I could smell it perfectly and could not, in any way, decline the offer.

I took  it and smelled it – that fresh just-off-the-charcoal-grill scent and peanut butter sauce with a hint of coconut. I took a bite. It was soft, juicy chicken meat and the sauce was so good and creamy. I just had to have another.

I sat in a little wooden bench near the group of women. The one who offered me chicken started shouting at a shirtless little kid playing in a puddle of mud. I assume that he is her child. The boy shouted back and ran to their house – a tiny 2 level house patched up by pieces of plywood. A little girl came out of the house then another kid and another and another until I lost count, then an old man and another older man and an older woman. They walked towards us, laughing, smiling and excited for some reason, probably the sate.

I looked around me for the first time. I saw shirtless teenage boys playing basketball in a ring they made with plastic bottles which was held by the tallest boy in the neighborhood.  I gestured wait to the old lady then I walked towards the end of the street. I could barely reach the end in a straight line because of all the people and motorcyles scattered in the street and sidewalks.

Across the road was a market of all sorts – cooked food, raw food, toys, souvenir, baby clothes. The main road was a mess of cars, trucks, mini vans and ojek. Everyone seems to be honking their horns, it was earsplitting. There was so much smoke I had to pull my red linen scarf up to my nose. I assume the road was a 4-lane road being used as a 7-lane road – 2 lanes for ojeks, 1 lane for parked ojeks and  2-3 lanes for cars. How they drive in there, I don’t know.

Did I just see an old white Mitsubishi Delica pick-up truck with 3 cows behind it? Yes, yes I just did.  Amusing.

I saw the guy who knew another guy get off from an ojek. He had my money. I gave him a little tip – 250,000 Indonesian Rupiah, more or less €15 / $16.50. I was amazed at how incredibly grateful he was for it. It was as if he had been needing it all his life.  It almost hurt how happy he was with a little money.

I walked back to the front of the hotel, bemused. I struggled to make conversations with the people but I managed to enjoy spending time with them. We played cards and ate dried noodles for lunch. It was a warm feeling. These people, all of them, so welcoming, so humble and contented. I looked around one last time. Although I knew the truth, I still just couldn’t wrap my head around what I was seeing – they all seemed so genuinely damn happy.

Their laughter, their happiness , their positivity, they were contagious.

I gave all my Indonesian Rupiah to the old lady and kept just enough for my taxi ride to the airport.

I suddenly knew what I had to do. That same day, I flew to Bali.

Let me take you through the hills near a little farm in Southern France

It is unconventional these days isn’t it? Telling someone that you will take them through the hills of Southern France in an article without pictures.  Here is what I want you to do: Read it slowly, take it all in and paint the picture in your head through my words.

Take a deep breath and begin.

You feel the sunlight on your face. It is one of your favorites to wake up early without an alarm clock and with a hand on your back slowly caressing it up and down with the tips of their fingers. It feels good. You open your eyes and the hand is gone. It was a dream.

You sit up on your bed to look around. You’re in a room in a farm-house. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, the door – all wooden. Rustic.

You walk out the door with a cup of coffee in your hand. You pause to take in the view – 50 feet away from you is a huge grass clearing.  The clearing is surrounded and divided into two parts by wooden fences:  ¾ of the clearing is where 6 donkeys, 2 cows and 2 llamas are roaming around while ¼ of it, on the right side of your view, is where 10 small goats are. Pine trees surround the whole clearing.  You walk towards it and stand just behind the fence. You sigh.

It feels great doesn’t it? All the green trees and grass in front of you and around you, how you’ve missed this. You take a deep breath and appreciate the fresh air. Amazing. Air without pollution. Fresh. Everything is so fresh. You hear nothing but the animals and the blow of the wind. No cars honking, no one shouting and no one rushing to work.

You start walking back towards the little 2 storey wooden farm-house. You enter the dining area and are greeted by two local men with delight.

“Bonjour” they say. You say “Bonjour” back to them.

You sit in the wooden table for 2 persons, near the rustic bar. One of them comes to you; he stands on your right side holding a small pad paper waiting for you to say your order. You muster up your confidence to say

“Je veux manger petit déjeuner. Merci beaucoup”

Two of only 10 French phrases you have memorized in order to survive travelling to little towns and villages where no one speaks any other language. You are not sure if you said it correctly but you smile and wait patiently for your food to come.

You’re relieved to see the waiter walk towards you holding a tray of food. “Yes. He understood.” You say to yourself.  Here they are in front of you, a croissant with a side of ham and cheese. You dig in for the cheese first – it is richer and more buttery than usual, a little bit on the sweeter side, so smooth on the palate. Delicious. You suspect it is made of sheep’s milk.

The ham is so fresh as well. It is bright in color and so inviting. You taste it – a perfect amount of saltiness with a hint of nut. What kind of ham is this? It goes so well with the texture and slight sweetness of the cheese.

You sip from your coffee cup.  You take a bite of the croissant. It is accurately crunchy outside, so soft and tasty on the inside. You enjoy it to the last bit. You ponder maybe this is why it is not a famous fact that croissants originated in Austria.

You say your thanks to them and head for the stable just behind the farm-house.

The stable houses 8 strong and healthy horses of different breeds.

You look at them one by one but stop at the third one. You stare at this attractive horse. He looks back at you. You reach your hand out halfway and wait. He comes forward and touches his nose on your hand. You love him instantly. You take him out, this Norman Cob breed of a horse. He looks magnificent in his seal brown color.

You take a saddle sitting outside the stable, place it on him and climb. You let him walk out of the farm to warm him up then signal him to start galloping once you’ve gone past the huge clearing.  You run through the forest, up to the hills. You feel the swish of the wind and the smashing of tree branches against each other as you climb up the hills. You are excited and happy.

You stop at the top and caress the back of the horse so as to say he’s done a great job. His mane feels so soft to the touch. His coating glows in the light. You’re glad you took him with you.

You look around and below. You see such a beautiful view of grass clearings surrounded by trees and old little French houses and a single old Catholic church. At the left side you see 2 huge clearings with wooden fences – one is scattered with sheep, the other one with majestic tall horses of another breed.  You think for a while, wouldn’t this be a beautiful moment to share with someone completely present?

You smile as you close your eyes. You face the sun and feel it shine on your face once again.

You signal the horse to gallop. The only things you see are the path in front of you and the greens at the sides, the only things you hear are the wind and hooves of your horse hitting the ground, the only thing you feel is the sun’s warmth on your skin.

You are here. You are present. You feel ever so light. You are living this moment.

You head back to your room with a smile you can’t wipe off from your face. It had been a beautiful morning. You decide to sit just beside the window and write to share this morning in hopes that your readers, through your words, will be able to live this morning too in a little farm in the South of France.

À tout à l’heure.

Read. Imagine.

3 years and 8 months. That’s how long it has been since I visited my WordPress account.

Imagine all the stories that mounded up for me to tell you, imagine the great amount of photographs I have taken that I can share.

I have travelled across Asia, Africa and Europe.

I have met dozens of new people, gained true friends, fell in love for the first time, acquired new hobbies, tasted new flavors and heard new songs.

I have thousands of photographs to share.

But let me share them to you through words. Yes, everything through words – the very essence of writing and reading.

Let us read once again, my friend. Let’s paint pictures in our heads, feel emotions and travel through space and time through words.

And let’s begin with today.

Imagine a sunny afternoon in Europe. I am sitting on a black sofa with a white paper and pen on my lap. Just about 10 feet away, in front of me, is 1 low shelf with an unused flat television sitting on top of it. The low shelf sits in the middle of 2 tall white bookshelves strategically set apart to give the illusion of a bigger living room. They are filled with picture frames and old books.  A black coffee table is in the center, between me and the shelves. White walls surround me.

The sunshine is beaming through the big European window I have slightly opened. I hear the sound of the cars and women speaking a foreign language. Tourists, they are. I feel the cool, crisp blow of the wind coming in and blowing on my hair.

I am contented.

I smile as I end this entry with a promise to not disappear again for 3 years and 8 months. I will tell you stories, true stories with the hope that you will get to feel or live a little moment in a different dimension or perhaps the same dimension but through a different perspective, through different words.

 

 

Some Things I Have Forgotten About

1. Photography – I have forgotten when and why I’ve lost interest in taking pictures. But as I was  going through old files I found long-lost photos of clients and subjects that I was interested in back in college when I worked as a part-time/ assistant photographer. I remember how I used to tell everyone that photos tell stories words can’t express, that the more natural photos are, the more beautiful they are, that taking pictures allows us to see people in a different light. And that we should keep the good ones to remind us of those unique, happy moments and throw those that bring us negativity and painful pasts. Then, I stopped taking photos, even of myself.
2. Dancing / Music – I am a pianist before anything else. I’m a musician. I make music, I play and dance to it. But then again, I don’t remember when I stopped. I didn’t lose interest. From time to time, I try to pick up from where I left off but time is limited and resources are constraining.
3. Cooking / Baking – There was a point in my life where I was obsessed about being a chef. I read, downloaded, printed recipes, applied and registered to international schools and pressured my parents to send me there. But obviously, all odds were against it and sometimes, I still think about what could have been if I had not gotten over that obsession.
4. Mission trips – 2 years ago, I joined World Vision  as a sponsor. I chose a kid from Africa and some from other countries as well. They offer mission trips for sponsors and I have always wanted to go! I don’t know why I haven’t yet and I’m looking forward to finally visiting the communities this year or maybe, hopefully, early next year.
5. Flying trapeze – I don’t know why I wanted to do this. I tried it one time near the beach and it got me high. I couldn’t get enough of it. I did it more often and did 3 stunts per day. Maybe because somehow, it felt like flying. So, I decided to join a class to learn more stunts. But then, I forgot.
6. Flying and other things I would not share on this blog.

7. This blog – I forgot that I had  a blog and that I have so much to share. I broke my promise. Whatever happened to the weekly post and self-assessment? I forgot. But here I am. So, let’s do this again!