Loving muh-self

I've remembered my password and I've decided to write. And thank you, for all of ya'll who have been spiritual brothers and sisters, who have as a result of this bond ended up on my mailing list. Everyday, I try to be a genuine human being. But, very often I fail at this task. And who does not; we end up in various situations where we have to pretend, where either a.) we do not know who we truly are (what honesty exists or is for us) or b.) It seems more appropriate to pretend. So, can I accept that I am constantly pretending, while also having the sincere desire to cease pretendin? Ya dig? Can I strive to be wonderful, brilliant, ourself, while also accepting that I am COMPLETELY lost. And maybe being lost is being honest to myself, chewing and digesting that i have made lots of misguided mistakes, and that is part of what my life is, that I'm too young to be wondering about mistakes but its there! Because living is FAR, FAR from orderly, even though we desire it to be so. Something far more complex than a plain yogurt story revolving around ourselves. A love lost, a love gained. Sometimes incredibly painful and debilitating, sometimes awestruck. That is existence (at this moment, for me).


(Above is L. Ron Hubbard, founder of scientology, as Buddha, lovin his self)

Yallah!

Holy Crap,

Tomorrow I'll be heading to Mexico City and from there, back to St. Paul, Minniesoder. This will symbolically mark the completion of a one year journey from St. Paul to San Miguel de Allende, MX, to Bangkok to Khon Kaen Thailand, to Laos, back to Khon Kaen again, to HongKong, Beijing, St. Paul, to San Miguel de Allende and then back to St, Paul. I sure do hope that when I dip my toes and face into the snow, and then make snow angels that it will feel jusssssst right.

I do not know how I wound up here, and everyday this question passes through me in one form or another. I grew up as a poor kid in Jamaica Plain, son of a dad with severe Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and a mom that loved me indescribably. Life through my eyes as a yoot (youth), was a bit odd, upset, and confusing. To make matters more uncomfortable, I often sat on the toilet for over half an hour with bad stomach aches, as I wondered- is there something wrong with the way I go to the bathroom, or me? Later, I'd become allergic to my own cat, who also had stomach problems, and I'd have bouts of one half of my face become clogged- nose stuffed and eye itchy-watery, switching back and forth from left side to ride side like a game of pong.

Before I knew it, I was off to college, pissed off about high school, wanting a change, but expecting nothing more and perhaps absolute ruin. I had searched for something alternative, like a hogwarts, or a retreat to a mountain dojo, but did not trust my internal compass to find such a place. Yet, maybe the stars did align with my soul-magnet; before I knew it, I was sitting in front of the President of the Mathematical Association of America, proving non-dogmatic non falsification-ism, which pointed towards the Buddhist reality of emptiness, next to a red-headed kid from Florida, the apple of his eye, and a rocker from Pakistan that would become my room/soul mates for the next four years.

GOD! College was a strange time for me. Though lifted by the compassion of friends, a Buddhist master, and nourished by the Cafe Mac Curry Bar, I felt so lost like a savant trying to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Each year, I seemed to generate more fear and skepticism of myself. Yet, each day I was also chipping away at these insecurities that seemed to have had been gathered since laying awkwardly and unreassuringly in my mom's womb. Anyways, before I knew it, it was time for study abroad. I was a religious studies major, who had taken years of Chinese, 6 of spanish, headed off to Thailand with the pretenses of becoming ordained and saving forests, but I would also get the opportunity to visit my mom who had moved to Mexico, woah!

So, there I was, suddenly, after living the tranquilo culture of cabs slowly but surely bumping over cobblestones in time with the rhythms of horns and mariachis to the concrete jungle of Bangkok without the address of my hotel. From there it was a blur of fighting corrupt development companies, a revolution, trips to the hospital with cute nurses and club sandwiches, labour-intensive diplomacy, village life (witichiwit chao ban), true/puppy love, and unbearable romance songs sung by thai women with baby powder white skin in a spotlight lamenting the downfall of the great Thai Kingdom on 6 hour bus rides, going... somewhere? Somehow, I made it, back to the blue skies of St. Paul, and to the tranquilo starry nights of San Miguel. Though, most certainly not speaking or seeing as the same I that had begun this trip- when was it again, that it all began?

Now as I begin my final semester, I know less than ever, and I hope to grow increasingly less concerned about scrupulously figuring things out. Instead, I want to live! And breath wonder, and express compassion. I wanna have a blast this semester, as I aim along with my roommate, to increase gross domestic spontaneity and playfulness on campus. I'd like to go deeper, and then realize that there's no deeper, or shallower, good or bad. I want the whole world to know what unconditional love is. Right now, I'd like to get some rest, phewwww, wooooosh, ahhhhh!

Thanks for continuing to follow along with me.

Sawatdee, Gracias, Asalamalakum,

-El Duchador

New Friends

Making new friends in Southeast Asia, including animals, seems a lot easier than in the U.S. of A. Some people like to go to the beach, others enjoy taking pictures of temples, but I like to just kick it with the locals. There's always a new adventure to get into with a Thai or a Laotian, and they're always to share their food with you: maa gin khao! (Come and eat with us!) The other day (actually about a month ago, I got lazy and forgot to blog), I had a craving for some sweets. The only place open was a cake shop with a lone birthday cake in the display window. I had a good feeling about this cake and it was only about 2 bucks! As it turns out, the people down the street were having a birthday party for their kids! Another fortuitous encounter happened at the internet cafe. I really was tired of the internet- every single tourist has a bad addiction problem- I swear to God you see junkies walking the streets saying, "You got internet mann, can I just got a single upload." So while my pals (I met a couple of fellow international travelers) were talking to virtual amigos on spacebook or myface, I struck up a conversation with the internet cafe workers. They gave me 4 different kinds of sticky rice snacks and offered me a V.I.P. bus to Luanprabang for only $200.
**Note- even though the world has an internet addiction and people survived while abroad prior to its inception, you really should stay in touch with friends back home. It's definitely kept me content and free of home sickness.

One of the most distinct features of Laos and Thailand is the tuk tuk- a three wheeled taxi with an awning that has been on the road for about 50 years. The experience of the tuk tuk in Laos is not as pleasant as in bra ted Thai. Everywhere you go you are hassled, "tuk tuk, go waterfall, cheap cheap"- same line over and over again. I have often thought what it does to a person's mentality, especially a child who is constantly pushing a product onto somebody, never getting the opportunity to just set back and wait, or talk to tourists just for the pleasure of it.

Nonetheless, other ways to entertain yourself while abroad without having to pay 50 us dollars to have a postcard experience include driving a tuk tuk, rescuing fish from the market, interviewing farmers about their land, planting sticky rice (free labour is always in high demand), taking an aerobics class, and making your own fishing rod out of local materials, even if it doesn't work. All things you can do at home, but for some reason its more fun while traveling. Maybe we just forget how to be creative and appreciate the ordinary.

Back To School

Don't be fooled, I'm not going back to school in America, but rather I've started the year off, kind of, at Khon Kaen University, Khon Kaen, Thailand. After my study abroad program ended, I decided to stay in Thailand to work and travel, despite a few unfortunate protests you may have heard about in the news. Though I am living in a city called Yasothon, and also in a village called Ban Non Yang, I decided to make a return trip to my ol' alma matter to visit some friends. As it happens, their school year is starting now. It's very unreal to be back here on my own- I feel like a true exchange student, and I also feel like a freshman again attending all of the welcoming events!

The new first years have arrived. You can tell that they're freshmen because they all have to wear ID tags the size of street signs. They look absolutely adorable trying to find their classes, making new friends and doing cheers in mass numbers like a giant, fluffy, PRC Army (People's Republic of China)- each department has a set of cheers they have to learn before they are officially accepted. Bring back any rememberances of your first days at university? I've gotten to go to a couple classes myself, and I've gotta say, their classes are more fun than mine. Everybody laughs at each other and gets really chatty, and they all looks dapper and swell in their black and white garb with individual selection of winnie the poo flats and hair ties, a stark contrast to the plaid and more plaid at Macalester. One community development professor asked me to introduce and explain the quote, "Learn to plan or plan to failllll," which I failed to plan for; though whole class offered an impressed, "ooooooooooo" when I told them I studied development just like them. When not in class students are also preparing for the big tournament of games, practicing softball, badmitten, and other sports with great intensity (see below and above).

So I'll be chillin hair, basking in memories of my freshman year and pretending to be student because i wish i was as hip and precious as them. When university life gets to be much, you will find me in a forest meditating on where my belly button leads to.










... sorry i only have photos of students playing softball. They're really are some more telling images. I just can't find them on my camera, haha.

Ron Mai?

Are you hot?

The temperature has broken a hun-ded, but the Thais have a solution for this: a national holiday called Songkran. During this joyous time, people pour into the streets to pour water all over each other for a week.

Ron mai? No problem!

Skills

Combing through my friends' hair to detach lice from their follicles is not a skill I envisioned myself mastering while studying abroad. BUT, people are dropping like acid to these small critters. Thai insects like farangs (foreigners). I think to mosquitoes, scorpions, and now lice, our student group is like one fat ethnic cuisine buffet. The first case was discovered by the security guard's wife who lives next to our office; she combed through the girl's hair locating one egg, than two, then the whole nest, dying with laughter along the way. Then another one had an itchy head, then another, and yet another. One of the things Thai people excel at is using their hands. Anything doesn't work or has to be stitched, cemented, dug, or grown, they can do it. As an American whose had everything placed in front of him or replaced as soon as it breaks down, I'm starting to realize that my hands don't realize what beauty they can produce, other than a blog entry or maybe a good massage. So, I'm putting the little guys through a training regiment, beginning with lice removal. It's a win-win; my friends have their itchiness relieved while my fingers become more nimble- how could I do otherwise? Unfortunately, I don't have time to cover how much going to the bathroom in this country has aided my progress. Until next time, take a good look at your hands. Have they been limited of their capacity because of the way everything is handed to you in your snug home? What's up with this? Let your digits loose before it's too late.

Post # 8, The Heat is On

Hey, I can't believe I made it to 8 posts. I don't know why I've kept up so long with this; there must be somethin good about it. Maybe something I can take from my blog is that: we're always looking for true passion and always afraid that we won't be able to maintain it once we find it, but passion finds you and it keeps pulling you in. Unfortunately, this point has nothing to do with my post tonight, which may be an indication of my publishing quality. My last post on dog sex is further evidence that my standards may be slipping right off a cliff. But! Onwards and upwards to number 9!

The heat is on in Khon Kaen, city of the motorcycles and air that is cleaner than Bangkok but dense enough to trap heat. It topped a hundred today and I was sweating bullets. But that's ok, the real problem is that my face continues to swell. I'm pretty sure I had an allergic reaction to some food. It started with itchy lips, that crusty stuff growing on the sides of my mouth, then dryness, then bloating- my lips have never been more robust, and now finally swelling around my face with itchiness. This, is studying abroad. My roommate and all his friends are concerned about me. They visit my dorm in hordes like I'm on my deathbed. One is studying pharmacy, so she gave me some anti-histamines. I don't know how this happened but I've got a good guess. First, I'm sticking with the food allergy hypothesis. If we accept that it is a food allergy, what food you might ask? Well, even though I'm a vegetariano, I've always been an omnivore- my palate a welcoming home to any flavor and essence. But, if I learned anything from my last unit of study on agriculture, it's that our food has more chemicals than ever before. Chemicals that aren't meant to play nicely with the food, the earth, and most definitely not our bodies. Chemicals that give vegetables a deceptive golden glow and the body a sweet rash. So, I've begun planting a garden in front of the office to ensure that this won't happen again. If you don't want your face to resemble that of a chipmunk, you should do the same. Don't worry about me mom, I'll be fine, really. Sometimes, no matter how many anti-histamines we throw at life, it becomes increasingly swollen and we have the tendency to become increasingly irritated. What do we do in these moments, I wonder? What is it like to feel an itch but not scratch?

Amor es Perros

(Love is a Bitch).

It's valentines day and I just witnessed two dogs having sex. Sorry for our younger members/ people with class in our audience. Morgan, maybe you should stop here; this story isn't as cute as the ones I wrote about dogs in Mexico... well, maybe it is in some ways. Dogs roam the streets freely in Thailand, and they've got needs for entertainment like everybody else. While sitting in my room, I heard a loud dog squeal. It continued so I went outside. My roommate and some friends were holding Valentines flowers, and I faintly thought that I noticed them giggling, but I was too focused on this dog to have the awareness to ask them why they were giggling. Rushing downstairs, I saw the strangest thing. Two dogs were facing opposite directions, stuck together by the arses. Surely, they are having sex, but why in this position, and why were they stuck? I might never know. Dumbfounded and horror-stricken my friends looked on, one proposed that they were tangled by the balls. Realizing, sadly, there was not a thing I could do, I went back upstairs to my roommate again who was cracking up. "This happens all the time in my village he said... gay dogs." Also laughing, the local bar owner and security guard explained this to my friends downstairs. Love is a bitch, and you should be careful when you're desperate; let cupid not stupidly strike us at the wrong time. And I really do hope that someday all dogs will just happily lick themselves in the comfort of a warm home.

Touchdown in Thailand

Hello! How is everybody? It's been a while since I last wrote, probably because I've been trying to settle into Thailand, after leaving my beeyootyfull home, lacasaana, San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Mexico. Somehow it is even hotter and more hectic here in Thailand, at least in the city. Overall. when I stop to think about it, Mexico is constantly partying, but it's pretty tranquilo. Thailand is still developing, and it shows. Traffic is hectic, with swarms of motor bikes weaving through traffic like a pack of bees. Everybody rides motor bikes, from the rebellious college student to the hard working grandma (yaw or yai). There are over 14000 deaths a year on the road and without sidewalks, getting graized by an automovil is a common occurence (don't worry Ma- I always wear my helmet, even when walking. The skies are a mildly smothering shade of gray, I think because of pollution. Right now, I'm living on the campus of Khon Kaen University, which is more like a metropolis. It's a campus of 100,000 academics, with lots of traffic, stores, and bars- also 24 videogaming salons. However, I've already been to one village in the middle of the forest with thatch roofs, community meals (every member sitting in a circle on mats, digging their paws into shared bowls) and a pond for bathing. I've visited an HIV/AIDS clinic where I received instruction on how to employ male and female condoms, AND I got to know my xiao Abe (little abe) better, as I had the opportunity to draw it, (him?) Lastly, I was staying in a slum community, where trash is littered everywhere and houses are made out of tin rather than straw. I had no idea I'd be living in these environments, let alone right at the onset of the program- it blows my mind- everytime I have a pack of kids jumping on my back I feel like a picture from a Peace Corps catalogue. The slum village was a pretty neat place. The main activities are eating sticky rice, watching lots of tv, and just running around. Yelling is a predomninant means of communication but without anger, which reminds me of my Chinese household. Chickens, roosters, ducks, and dogs also like to communicate and sometimes wrestle each other- Mexico's only got the dogs with the occasional rooster. I woke up at about 5 to 6am everymorning, feeling like a king in a royal bed- my drapery is my mosquito net. Unfortunately the net does not protect you when away from the bed- God mosquitos like farangs (gringos)! I have my instant cup of coffee and maybe abnam- bathe or pour water on myself. If I'm adventurous I'll try to use the squatter, toilet paper is rare, and splashing in the right places requires lots of precision- I wish I studied this art with Jalal freshman year rather than mathematics. Later, I walk my kids to school on a sandy dirt road. Once there, they line up on the basketball court, sing the national anthem, and do a buddhist prayer- little buddhas are soooo cute. Come to think of it, little kids living in Thailand are all so cute- maybe as cute as the little dudes in Mexico. Boys wear khaki shorts, white button-ups, and orange shoes- they look like they're all going on a Safari. And while the girls in Mexico have powdered donut smeared on their face, Thais opt for baby powder. One of the most outstanding qualities of both countires is the substantial trust parents have for their kids. They all run around free! And community members look out for each other's kids. Yes, sometimes they do things they shouldn't- like play with lighters or other discarded items found on the ground. But, they're definitely not afraid of dirt. I'm pretty sure they have lot more fun than little Johnny who has piano lessons at 10, creative thinking at 12, nap time at one, followed by some wheat crackers, then bed time by 4. They also are so independent at such a young age. They're also astonishingly mature; as soon as one buys a snack she offers some to me and all of her friends. I was also at the local fair the other night, and this seven-year old helped me find my family... I loved the little guy I was staying with. His name was Fom (foam)- he always had my back (or was climbing my back); he even tried to teach me Thai. As I walked by his side, him wearing my motorcycle helmet, I thought: man, there must be so much more this kid knows than me- I'm really gonna miss him- I'll be back there some day though.

Si!

El Perro

I forgot about the mutts. From my brief period of observation, Mexican dogs are one of the most advanced breeds. This conclusion is supported by a few of their everyday behaviors and exchanges. Mexican dogs carry on stimulating conversation with greater frequency than your average golden retreiver. Dogs all across the city, from junkyards, to haciendas, to tienditas, can be heard exchanging yelps and howls. To the untrained ear, this is just noise. But, just yesterday my mother listened in on two mutts talking about their owner. One bragged to his pal, I bet I can make my master come out first and bring me in by barking louder than you. Another group of ruffians were roused over a new dog in town. "Hey cafe, did you see that new vato in town. Sure did picasso, let's show him who's boss." They began to raise the pitch of their bark, as others in the gang quickly joined in with gusto. These dogs scheme. And they have to, because their resources are limited. Unfortunately, many roam the streets without owners; they are raggedy, which makes them so adorable. The urge to take them home, follows you like a moapy shadow. To make matters more heart-wrenching, they can pick out the retired Americans with a few extra pesos. This one followed my mom all the way home the other day. She was at the biblioteca when he locked eyes with her and proceeded to do figure eights through her legs. On the way home, she kept pushing him away, but he kept nipping at the tie of her capri pants, buttoning his nose at her. When my mom crossed the street, he would cross the street. He would say, "Hey, what about me, hey, you're forgetting about me." I sure hope all Mexican dogs go to heaven.

Un Perro Y Una Guitarra

On la Calle Relox, there is a woman who plays three strings. She plays the same off-pitched amalgamation of strings on her guitar perpetually until the sun hides behinds the buildings of my colonia. And with the vibrations comes a melody, which does not really have melody, pitch, or any other features common to music. Her composition lacks what is commonly satisfying to the ears, but perhaps this is because it exists on its on scale, its own wavelength. I am reminded of a vocal Brittish man I listened to at a party last night extol the value of judging artwork properly. "Well of course you can have an opinion about art, but unless it is backed up with the proper training and agreed upon by an expert community, it is meaningless." Well of course we can come to a concensus about that which is slightly more pleasant to our eyes or ears. But this judgement is meaningful only to a few, and is based on a mere whimsical set of preferences. Perhaps a more meaningful conclusion can be found in listening for the sound that all human beings produce, that which is neither good nor bad, pleasant nor unpleasant, but simply is. This is the sound which these three strings and a rough, worn hand produce so beautifully, I think. It is also embedded within the Brittish man's words, but beneath their superfluous content. Though I prefer to hear the guitar, I try to listen carefully to both. And I wonder, after so much time spent on la Calle Relox, how this woman hears her melody.

Buenos Dias

Hola,

Me Llamo Abe Levine. Only one of my friend's calls me Lee, but that's the name I'm using here because it sounds appropriate for a blogging, faintly-hip, type. Other than my nombre y appelido, I am a Chinese-Jewish, Buddhist, Environmentalist, Salsa Teacher currently residing in my mother's house (la casa ana) in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. This publication is, thankfully, much more about the place and space than about moi. The taste of San Miguel hits you in the nose like the slap of a Buddha's palm, hence I am left with no option but to twist my hips, react, and spin San Miguel outward to anybody who wants to listen. Coincidentally, yesterday I was flipped face down onto a matt in an Akido Dojo, but that's a different story. I hope that my future entries will strike a chord of cultural awareness and appreciation for the very simplist transactions between us and the cosmos, much like when a masseuse locates and presses hard on a sore tendon. Or, maybe you'll just smile once with me.