Love and Sunday Mornings

So it’s cold outside.

So spring is not “supposed to be like this”.

In this world and existence of chaos, of wars and terrorism, of constant fears, doubts, and politics, of incessant noise and turmoil, there was at least one place where it was quiet, where Sunday was in its element and was just being its unequivocal epitome of Sunday-ness. It was calm. It was warm. There was no rush, no hurry. Things were in their perfect sweet spot in the universe, like shoes that hug your feet in the right, most amazingly delicious way. In our little cozy nook in the vast Universe, nutella banana crepes were being flipped (theatrically, at times), fresh oranges were being squeezed, and Love, oh my goodness, the Love was bubbling and spilling over.

Not in any of my wildest of dreams have I imagined “this” to be “like this”.

It’s unspeakable. It’s indescribable.

The Speed of Trust

It's 5AM and it's my last day here at the Island. I leave at noon to catch my flight back to Bangkok. I slept so good last night, better than any of the other nights since arriving in Asia. It rained again for a little bit last night, but not as hard as it did the night before. My lullaby was the soft whispers of the ocean caressing the shore.

It's astounding how trust is built in lightning speeds here. You sleep in tents completely vulnerable to the elements and wildlife and if you don't trust, this paradise will be hell for you. The tents have no locks, your possessions are fair game if anyone covets them. Likewise, if anyone wanted to accost you, they just need to unzip your tent and stab you in your sleep. They don't serve water in bottles and it's really your judgement call whether to drink it or not. They won't hold your hand while you deliberate. The bar works on an honor system. You walk up behind the bar, grab and mix whatever you want, and write your tab down in the notebook - no cash or credit card deposits required. You true up when you leave. The guards of your fellow travellers are so down, it feels really really really good being around that energy. People forget for a while the identities they wear in the "real world" and allow themselves to just Be.

I told myself that I would stay completely sober for this leg of the trip. Being a solo woman traveler, I have to be aware and conscious the entire time to protect my own safety. It's just the smart thing to do. After the barbeque last night, we were crowded around a table, sitting on mats on the floor made of tree trunks. I looked around and I cannot help but feel a wave of happiness. We were from all over the world, yet here we are, congregated over prawns and amazing chili sauce and interacting as if we have been intimate friends for a long time. So I allowed myself to have a few drinks. I have already trusted five of these guys with my life when I went on separate kayaking trips with them crossing the open sea to the island nextdoor. I trust that they are not going to spike my drink with a rape drug.



I am a little sad to be leaving this place and the friends that I have made here, but I trust that this experience is what it needed to be. The sun will rise in about 15 minutes and in 24 hours, I will be back in Manila with friends and family I have not seen in three years. Alex will stay one more night with Irene and Haiko and Cedric and Tirza. Toby and Elmar are moving on to Phi Phi, Vaughn to Ao Nang, then back to South Africa.



As Alex would say, "La vie es belle."

Namaste.

Shangri-La

I have not been getting much sleep since I got to Asia. Between jetlag and trying to pack as much expriences in two countries in 6 days, my body clock has lost all its rhythm. The days meld into each other. I don't even remember what day it is and how many days I have already been gone for. All that matters is that I am present in whatever city I am in, having the time of my life.

I woke up at midnight to a strange lound noise hammering incessantly in my ear. In my drowsy state, it took me a while to identify it and trace where it was coming from.

It was torrential, hard pounding, angry rain like I have never experienced before. It poured and poured with no signs of stopping.

It took me a while to gather my bearings as I gained lucidity. I am sleeping alone in a tent on the beach in a remote island in Southern Thailand.

I was frightened.

I have never camped in my life before being the city dweller that I am. I am completely out of any comfort zone I have known all my life. I watched my mind started play all these scenarios that make me want to shit my pants. What if the rain never stops? What if I got stuck here on this island and miss my flight out of Thailand to Manila? What if a tsunami comes? Are my belongings dry? Is this tent going to withstand the wind and rain?

I listened to the thunder. Oddly, it calmed me and lulled me back to sleep.

I woke up right at sunrise. The morning had a nonchalance to it like we didn't get pummeled by rain the night before. It was all just a memory.

This place is an amazing piece of earth. I almost don't want to talk about it because I want to help keep it hush hush so that the tourism industry doesn't ruin the purity of it. Getting off the longtail, I felt like I stepped into the filming of "Castaway", except that this is far more real. The sand is very white and soft, reminsicent of talcum powder. The water is clear teeming with life, and from the shore, you can spot droves of tiny fish swimming as a school. There are no permanent resort facilities - guests sleep in tents. It is actually a very luxurious way of roughing it out, if you can imagine that.

Mike says that the maximum capacity in the island is sixty, but could actually be less than that. While I was there, there were only eleven of us. There is a working plumbing system but the bathrooms are shared and doesn't have hot water. Instead of palm trees, the backdrop here is a rainforest. On one end of the island is amazing rockclimbing people travel the world over for. Traveling south from the Hat Yao Pier, one would see island after island, actually more like enormous rocks, that jut upwards out of the water, like phallic symbols. It's just fascinating. The closest island here can be reached by an easy twenty minute trip on a kayak.

There is nothing to do here except master the art of doing nothing. I love it. There are no Thai massages, no wi-fi. It's just the earth and you, baby.

As the day winds down, I soak in The Island's magnificence. This is as close to the earth as I have been and this island is perfect for reminding me of the oneness of everything.. that man is not superior to the other creatures on earth and how utterly important it is to co-exist with the rest of the Universe because they deserve this existence as much as we do. They say time flies when you're having fun. My experience today has shown me another dimension of itself. Nothing about this day went fast. Everything was divinely langorous to be savored, to be cherished. I probably napped at least three times today and I did not even feel guilty about it. I laid on a Thai matress for most part of the afternoon alternately staring at the sea, watching the colorful birds play, crab scurry about, and ants march by. In between, there were two (failed) attempts at snorkeling (the rain brought the jellyfish), swimming, reading, walks, a beach volleyball game, two kayak trips (the island has four kayaks that you can take around The Island or to nearby islands on your own or with friends - no need for tour guides), and lots of rich conversations with new friends from all over the world.



Alex and I formed an instant connection maybe because we're both traveling solo. He's a French banker living in Hong Kong but relocating back to Europe (London) in January. He's obviously very intelligent and I love hearing his English, although I have to ask him to repeat himself every other time. He is tall, lanky, has thick dark hair, smiling electrifying blue eyes that glow when he tells a story he's wild about. Toby, a tall good looking athletic, easy-going German calls him "fussy" sometimes. Him and I giggle about this. Toby is one of those people you would get along with in an instant. He has thick curly hair and an amazing smile. We both Latin dance and just love being silly. Unlike Elmar (Toby and I call him Oscar sometimes - inside joke), Toby's best friend and travelling buddy, who is bit serious and intense. He is very curious about the world, what he sees and the people he meets.

Vaughn is a self-proclaimed pessimist, but I challenged him to distinguish whether it really is pessimism or realism. He is undecided between pessimistic realist or realistic pessimist. I really doubt that he is either, judging from our conversations on apertheid in his country, South Africa. He breathes so much passion talking about life in his motherland. His voice is heavy with an honest mix of responsibility, white man guilt and sadness for the state of things - and how he could just not abandon South Africa just because he can. His original plan of soul searching for 2.5 months (Thailand first, South America next) was foiled after his job rescinded his sabbatical (he's a banker). It is amazing because he's 30, right at the cusp of the "soul searching" age where people actually are successful in finding it. He thinks he is looking for something he didn't have to begin with (his realistic pessimist side activating) but from our conversations, I think he's looking for something he has never lost to begin with.

We're having seafood barbeque tonight and I am stoked. From where I am writing this, I can hear Mike playing the guitar and Tiger (one of the resident kittens) meowing in the background. The waves are softly crashing the shore and in between, there are gaps of unmistakable silence.

It was good finding pieces of myself I didn't know I had here.

Namaste, love, joy, peace and compasion to everyone from Shangri-La...

A Testosterone Tale: A Day in Hong Kong

My short rendezvous with Hong Kong is almost over. I sit at HKG eating dimsum, sipping jasmine tea, waiting for Air Asia to update which gate I'll be boarding for my flight to Bangkok.

I came to Hong Kong with no expectations. To be honest, of all the places I was going to visit on this trip, Hong Kong was the one I was least stoked about. Coming here though, I will say I am impressed. Not pleasantly or massively, just impressed. It has the functionality and efficiency that I wasn't expecting to find. The subway and rail systems, along with its streets, are easily navigable it's almost unnecessary to rely on another human being for help with directions. Which is great because not very many people I have encountered speak English. Not that I expect them to. (But okay, it would have been nice). Despite the thick throng of people everywhere, the chaos was contained. Everyone knew their place. No one disrupts the pace. On the subway, nobody hardly ever talked as if there's some unwritten rule not to, well, disturb the peace and quiet. I was being extra careful not to trip over myself or my bags because if I do, especially in one of the gazillion escalators, I cannot promise you I will not be annihilated. There's no PDA, and although you are physically in close proximity to people a lot, your internal personal space is never intruded. They aren't a loud bunch. Walking to the subways, only one can audibly hear is the sound of expensive shoes marching in syncopy. It was too orchestrated.

The city was clean. Despite the incessant activity, the streets were clear of garbage, litter and homelessness. People were dressed fashionably, which is expected of one of the fashion hubs of Asia. I do have concerns though about how they can stand wool, layers, scarves and tall boots in 70 degree weather and 80% humidity. I had a light jacket on not because I needed to but because when in Rome, you have to do as the Romans do. But half an hour into it after walking and catching subways, I was sweltering. The jacket must go. F Romans.

The other silent rule was you do not sneeze in public, especially NOT the subway. I have written before that in NYC, when you sneeze in the subway, nobody looks at you nor says "bless you". In Hong Kong, when you sneeze in the subway, they reach for the mask in their purse and move away from you.

I don't think it's quite the language barrier that is the culprit for people's aloofness. They exhibit a distance, some kind of coldness (well, except for the sales ladies at the Ladies' Market, but then they want something from you). They are polite, yes. They will try to give you directions and tell you which way to swipe your MTR card, but don't expect them to look you in the eye and punctuate that with a smile. People don't stare here. Because of this, I felt safer, invisible I didn't even have to carry the pepper spray the Colonel advised me to pack. People, for the most part, just care about their own business.

And walking around the corporate district of Hong Kong Island and I understood why. These people have shit to do. They have important lives and careers. They don't have time or energy to waste on obsessing about where you are from, how much money you make compared to how much they make, and how you arrived at your fashion choices that day. I wonder if this is the collective Buddhist in them activating here - things just are, get on with it.

An afterthought. Is it coincidence that they wear heavy clothing in the "wintertime" because they are "cold"?

The business district was none like I have ever seen. The skyscrapers were gleaming and enormous - and they were endless. It smelled so much of testosterone - power, strength, dominance, ruthlessness, and some kind of invulnerability. Back in the US, there is endless talk about the economic slump, but you look around here and it is astounding that they it seems like they are exempt from that crisis (I'm not an economist - just an observer). They were still building and erecting sksyscrapers (how many do you need?). Life is pulsating in the shops which pepper the entire city.





Last night, I took the ferry from Hong Kong Island to the Kowloon Peninsula. The skyline, especially at night, was breathtaking. I try not to think about how much energy is expended to light up the harbor because if I do, I will not stand a chance of enjoying it at all. So I hush that voice and and just take it in. On my stroll on the Promenade that afternoon, they were playing salsa music. On my way back that night, a live orchestra was playing Christmas carols. Finally. Something nice to remember Hong Kong by. That, Yoga with the Master Yogananth Andiappan, and a nice little red cheongsam.



I finish this blog post on the plane to Bangkok. I forced msyelf to because once I get to Bangkok, I intend to be away from the computer, and I'm afraid that Bangkok will completely overshadow Hong Kong into oblivion. Not that it was a terrible experience. Not at all. Hong Kong is like that good looking, successful man in a three-piece suit with an, extremely dry sense of humor. He's stiff and a little too cold for my taste. Some like their noodles cold. I like mine hot. He's the kind you would talk to if you sat next to him on the plane due to sheer boredom, the kind you would allow to buy you drinks, but the kind you will never sleep with.

Namaste!

P.S. Pictures to follow.

And So It Begins...

Here I am at LAX waiting for my flight to Tokyo and I find myself ruminating about the Little Guy. Two weeks ago, I finally read with him the Star Wars book that I got him. When I unveiled the book, his eyes lit up, but in a very controlled repressed way, like he almost did not want to allow himself to feel a little elation, a litte excitement. The way I would think little people who, at such an early age, have developed these protective mechanisms to deal with life's disappointments and pain. I should have known it then.

One of his most favorite things in the world is Star Wars. One of his least favorite? Reading. So I thought if I got him a Star Wars book, he could see the possibilities of reading for passion. He enjoyed the book and he gifted me with a little bit of the spark, the fire, that he allowed himself to feel. At the end of the session, he was looking longingly at the book and I told him that he cannot have the book yet. I had the brilliant plan of waiting another week to give it to him as some kind of incentive, to make him want the book so much that he will really work on his reading.

The following Thursday, I came to see him at our usual time. He wasn't in school. In fact, his teacher did not think he was ever coming back. His parents had divorced and his mother had taken him to Virginia City or something like that. Last she heard, the Little Guy was not yet re-enrolled in school. My face fell and I was filled with disgust for myself. Had I known it was the last time I was going to see him, I would have given him the book without hesitation.

What a powerful lesson. I always say that my life philosophy is to be prepared to die at any given moment, yet there I was, a colossal failure at practicing what I preach. I lapsed into thinking that tomorrow, next week, another time, exists. I was taught again that it really doesn't except in our heads.

I picked up a Rumi booked last week with The Banker in mind. I hesitated to give it to him out of fear that he would find the gesture too intense, too clingy, too premature, too touchy feely. All these doubts were running in my head. Then I was reminded by the lesson Little Guy taught me. Tomorrow doesn't exist. If you feel compelled, do it when that compulsion strikes for that moment is all there is. That could very well be the last time I see him, so I am in a way left no choice. So I wrote on the first page (and yes, it was kind of a little love note - it's Rumi, for crying out loud), signed it, and gave it to him regardless of how he would think of the gesture, or of what I would think of what he would think of the gesture. Ahhh.. Freedom. :)

If you believe that We are all here to manifest love, then what is the shame, fear, or apologies for that expression of our humanity?

I am excited beyond words about my trip and I have a sneaking suspicion that my life will change again because of what I am about to immerse myself into. I believe that all experiences have the power to alter our existence and challenge us to become better human beings. It will be interesting to watch what kind of me will emerge after this lesson and all the lessons I will yet learn upon my return home. And home? Where is that anymore? I guess I will find out in the next two weeks.

After checking in, I was given a mini dry-run of the Manila that I might have forgotten. A Filipino airline worker started chatting me up and was asking extremely personal questions that you would never hear in a typical American conversation with a complete stranger. I am reminded of the egolessness that lies latent in the Filipino culture. It can be overwhelming since I have not experienced such a bombardment of privacy in a long time. America's hyperindividuated culture has quarantined me from that. But there I was, talking to a complete stranger about where I grew up, where I live, what I do. I had to draw the line at "What is your phone number?".

Oh Manila, this ought to be interesting.

But first, Hong Kong.

Namaste!

First Time

Some of my friends find amusement in my “innocence”. I call it naivete, which is a lot of times, co-mingled with an unassuming approach on people. Even after almost five years in this country, I still find plenty of things that stimulate wonder, surprise and questions. There are still too many things I have yet to do, discover and explore. And they are not even the things-to-do-before-you-keel-over type either. They are probably the simple things non-foreigners could easily take for granted.

I spent the latter part of the beautiful Sunday afternoon hanging out with friends carving pumpkins. I could not have imagined a more perfect day to pop my pumpkin-carving cherry. It had been raining all day and the wind was howling as I ran to Peter’s front door. They were standing by the counter and have already started cleaning out their pumpkins (and drinking their beers). Marley ran up to greet me wanting to slobber all over my face. Peter had a wood fire going and music playing. Oh yeeah, this is going to be good.

I’m glad that nobody coddled me or offered to cut up my pumpkin for me. It made the experience entirely mine. Somewhere in between eating cheese pizza, dissing Minnesota’s pumpkin-carving talent (or lack thereof!) and joshing around, Peter started playing this lewd standup MP3 by this comedian Nick Something or Other. A snippet of the interesting conversation:

“Trish, does this inappropriate conversation offend you? We can listen to something else.”

“What do you mean? I’m not as innocent as you think!”

“Well, it’s just that Minnesota said….”

“What?”

“That you’re kind of….”

“Ugh. I don’t want to know.”

“I know you don’t drink beer, but can I get you a drink?”

“Do you have soda?”

He looks in the fridge, shuffles bottles around…

“Umm.. no… I wish I had milk or something.”

“Milk?!? I’m not a little kid!”

That is just HILARIOUS. And the funnier thing is they weren’t being mean about it. They were seriously being respectful and going out of their way to make sure that they don’t do or say anything that will make me uncomfortable. It was rather sweet in their genuineness and intentions not to offend.

In a couple hours, we were done! Behold our masterpiece (mine's the little monster on the far right):

It had gotten dark by the time we had finished. The room was only lit by the fireplace and our jack-o-lanterns. We all sat on the couch, childish grins on our faces, mesmerized by the fire while the wind howled and the leaves rustled outside.

Later that night, I walked into my house with the heavy pumpkin in my arms which I’ve decided I would give as a present to my friend’s kids who I’m seeing in the Bay Area this weekend. As I walked in the door, I thought about how much joy there is in doing things for the first time – monumental or miniscule. Then I got to thinking about how short my not-so-bucket list is, which I take as a good sign that I don’t really need to accumulate and collect to make my life meaningful. I honestly believe that it already is. Meaningful. Purposeful. Not entirely joyful all the time, but I accept it for what it is. I don’t believe in keeping a list of “things to do before I die” because the reality is, we must be prepared to die at any given moment (this is very heavy in Eastern teachings). Tomorrow does not exist. I often say that I am ready to die for the most part (well, at least conceptually, but who really knows?). But then I wonder if the true test is not death but dismemberment. Whether the measure is that at any given time, you are ready to lose a limb, lose one of the five senses, lose your mental faculties. When you die, it all ends. But when you get decapitated, mutilated and maimed, you are technically still here, but your ability and power to do things as you’ve always done them before are no longer available to you.

I am fearful of this more than dying, to be truthful. This makes me realize how I am deeply attached to the things my body and my mind enable me to enjoy and experience. I could not imagine not being able to dance. I could not imagine not being able to do Yoga asanas and attempting to do cartwheels. I cannot imagine not being able to look in people’s eyes and penetrate their souls. I cannot imagine not being able to take a walk when it just rained and inhaling the intoxicating fragrant smell of wet pine.

So all I am left to do is cherish these things while they are here…to really surrender to the present at any given moment, as if I’m doing, seeing, tasting, smelling, hearing, feeling everything for the first and last time simultaneously…

Namaste!

Present

I’m trying to get back in the practice of getting out of my head and just being engrossed in the present moment all the time. Conceptually, it’s one of the simplest meditative practices. Personally, it’s one of the most herculean to master. Imagine repeating in your head: “I am breathing. I am following my breath in and out of my nose. I am stuffing this envelope. I am putting one foot in front of the other. My right side itches – I will reach my left hand to scratch it. I’m scratching my right side.” Now, imagine being in that space constantly. Crikey.

I’ve had a very quiet couple of nights and I did not realize how much I missed those, how good those felt. The last year has been fun and crazy. Socially, the pendulum has swung to and from opposite sides a couple of times, but now it is sitting at the middle. I am loving this reprieve. I am thrilled to be uninvolved and detached again. It is allowing me to set goals for myself, both short and long term. It is allowing me to take an inventory of my life and reinforce those that are most important to me and slough off those that don’t serve me.

I find myself in the familiar mind frame that the Universe is mine. The Universe is me. Such a powerful time.

And indulge me to play play a little play on homonyms here. I got two wonderful presents from Afghanistan today:

I wore both all afternoon. My co-worker asked how I can wear the scarf unwashed. Does the smell not offend me? No, it does not. In fact, that’s precisely why I kept it on. I like the fact that in an odd way, I was coaxed to reflect on the existence of other human beings. All because I have a piece of a foreign, far away land and culture with me. A few weeks ago, this scarf that I have draped around my neck was in the desert where it’s a punishing 120 degrees, where there is unrest unimaginable to me right now, where the women do not have the same rights as I do, where children are protected from lives of entitlement…

Yet at the same time deep, deep down, despite all these exterior differences, somewhere in a different part of the world, regardless of what the geographic, economic, social and political landscape out there is, there lies a place where people are people; and they are just people like me. Wearing the scarf made me feel somehow connected to the nation comprised of people no different from me or you. The smell of Afghanistan travels to my olfactory senses and I imagine the man (or woman? Are women allowed to work in that part of the globe?) who dyed the fabric painstakingly and created the aesthetic patterns. I hear the tiny bell sewn at the corner make its little playful jingle (which for some odd reason reminds me of a meditative bell) and I try to get in the consciousness of the Afghan man/woman who added this little detail and I ponder if this had any cultural or religious relevance. The scarf brushes my face and I can almost imagine the deep facial lines, the yellowing teeth that are exposed with the friendly, open smile of the jovial, enterprising man who peddled the scarf.

Alright now. I better hurry. I'm getting picked up in half an hour and we all know it takes me longer than that to get ready.

Namaste and TGIF!

Life's a Beach!

Yesterday morning was a blur. Aside from the fact that it was a Monday, it was just odd that I woke up in California and saw the sun rise in Nevada. I still shake my head because I don’t know if I actually drove that stretch half awake. Did I dream it? At 7:30 am, I was back in Sparks for a brief morning jog before I got dressed for work, as if that weekend and morning never happened.

I have been flirting with the idea of driving to the California coast lately, especially since my birthday was coming up and it was my wish to go somewhere I’ve never been before. I have been to Santa Cruz before but the traffic was horrific and I have no appetite to drive hours to a crowded beach again. I have not really expended any substantial energy into planning it, much less making it happen because of the travelling I have been doing lately. So it was a pleasant surprise that I found myself on a full day junket with the Italian and a couple new friends at, well, the beautiful California Coast.

You know that tingly feeling you get inside that somehow tells you that it’s going to be a great day? It was one of those days. The original plan was to run in Stockton in the morning and maybe throw frisbees at some park, but the weather was going to be punishing so to indulge me and my outdoor fix, we were going to rent bikes in San Francisco instead. The next morning, someone somehow discovered that the Gay Parade was happening that day, so we averted that “disaster” (not my words). We drove on I-5 without a plan. We were young and a full tank so we can afford to make plans on the fly. The consensus was the Coast which thrilled me.

We got to Half Moon Bay early enough that there was no traffic to deal with or parking problems to wrestle with. I have never been nor even seen pictures, so it was stunning to see the vast blue Pacific Ocean, the golden sand and the dramatic cliffs of Half Moon Bay for the very first time. Hello, God. Nice to see you here. We hiked on cliffs that overlook the Pacific Ocean and just took in the sound of the crashing waves and salty ocean air. Ahhh.. I'm home again. We climbed down, the shoes came off right away, and we started flinging a frisbee. Of course. My infatuation with summer continues.

On the way back, we decided to run instead of hike. The sheer beauty of the place just infuses you with so much energy that hiking just doesn’t quite do it. Everything in you wants to release, but since flying is not really an option, your being almost commands you to run.

Time stopped to matter as we kept on exploring, discovering, driving, and laughing on Highway 1 from Half Moon Bay to to Santa Cruz and finally ending at Capitola. The music ranged from Benny Benassi to The Doors. We found two excellent restaurants that day, and got free food at both places - vegetable rolls with mushroom, watercress and garlic at Main Street Sushi and a tiramisu at the superb authentic Italian restaurant in Capitola. We were collectively so high from that day and the wonderful love food from Capitola that at one point, we were all thrown into a sober giggling fit for no apparent reason.

I try to cling on to that day but somehow could not find it in me to. That day was what it was and what it needed to be and today is yet another day and tomorrow will be another one. While it is true that we need to be grateful for such beautiful moments and while there is enjoyment in recollection and remembrance, it is not here today. All we can do is ingrain those beautiful pieces, places, people and experiences to who we are so that they BECOME us.

Namaste!