Vacation

Did that last post even make sense in all its vaguerey? I’m not certain, but at least it got me back here.

Southeast Asia is all sun, and ocean, and heat, on top of heat, on top of heat. I have established something of a tan, and created an embarrassing profusion of empty, oversized beer bottles, which are collected on the tasteful little table in my lounge room; mostly, they are named Tiger. I’m beginning to wonder how I can smuggle them out without the knowledge of my Thai hosts.

Reflection away from the world you know has it’s boons and burdens, I think. Coming somewhere so alien all alone leaves you a little adrift, constantly taking your bearings, and gifts you with impressions of difference; but I don’t know how much personal epiphany I’m achieving – if that’s even why I’m here.

Every night the sun sets a little after six, and the sky burns a low, sherbet orange; and I think,

Yes. That’s enough.

But there are the swaths of time from the morning to the late afternoon, as I wander around, thinking very little at all, except maybe about the iced fruit drinks I consume with compulsive regularity, and about how I’m anxious to start another stage to my life, but how although I know the direction, I’m unable to beat any specifics out of that cardinal point until a reach it; so I’ve come to a tropical waiting room, wasting time until I can get onto another plane.

And I still don’t know what I feel about leaving; or if it was even the best decision.

I am really loving not having a phone, though. Not being tuned into the sounds and sensations your front pocket makes really is quite liberating.

My brain is finally out of my trousers.

Comments

[Loris Borsetta]

I think that male prostitutes are discrimated by people who are ignorant to understand that their work is similar to many others. For example, What is the difference between a male and professional prostitut and a politician?