Vagabond Again

Iced Caramel Macchiato killed in 5 minutes.
#ITriedToRestrainMyself

I am a vagabond again. I am without a house and my things are on their way, across the sea, to a new destination. Picture this: a lone woman sitting in a coffee shop (Starbucks, no less), writing on her Macbook, drinking an iced coffee- just so very original and interesting- sorry, excuse my moment of mild self-bashing…

I’ve had a lot of moments in my life like this one- in between the finish line of one thing and about to start another. I was racing towards this particular finish line harder than I have for just about anything. I wanted this phase of my life to pass as rapidly as possible. And now that I am there…

Of course I am happy. Of course things are going the way that I want them. But when life slows down for a moment, it leaves open all this time to think. Time for cliche things like “reflection.” Ugh. When you are in a demanding and tiring job, you have an excuse for not feeling overwhelming happiness. When you have what you’ve always wanted, and time to relax and piece yourself back together, there is little excuse for feeling unhappiness or darkness- feeling such a thing means that you can trace all of that sentiment to one place: yourself.

I am actually quite good at being a vagabond. I’ve been one for multiple occasions in my life. It is the time “in between.” This  transient time marks the end of about seven years of living abroad, aside from a brief 9-month period stateside. I am coming home to a US that I am not too overwhelmingly familiar with and intending to live there indefinitely. I suppose that does cause me a little bit of anxiety. I am moving into a life where I will no longer be living alone. I have lived alone for most of my adult life- it is really the only life that I know after 15 years of “adulting.” Of course, I get to live with my best friend and the man that I love- what I have been aggressively trying to get back to for the entire duration of this tour. But of course, realizing that I intend to never live alone again causes a little anxiety as well. We humans, no matter how adventurous we claim to be, are really not very comfortable with change.

My hopes are that now, since I am blessed with time on my hands to think, I put my thoughts together to come up with something more substantial to write. Or, who knows, maybe I will just write about why I don’t understand the Japanese usage of liquid forms of sugar, or how much I hate the trash sorting regime in Japan (even if it is for a good cause). I have to say, the biggest relief in leaving Japan may be that I no longer have to track days of the week to dispose of my four or five different categories of trash. Give me America! Give me the big American dumpster where I can dispose of all my consumerism in one place without any thoughts or cares. I swear that some of my therapy was spent on discussing the anxiety I experienced from sorting and disposing of trash in Japan. Eff the environment. I am freeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Hats Off

I have no idea what I am about to write. I just know that I need to. Death is probably the most written about topic in the history of man. Everything that there ever is or was to be said about it has probably already been said.

Casey was someone who exuded so much life. Always funny, always the center of attention, the light in the middle of the room.

Hit by a train. That doesn’t even sound real. That’s supposed to be a figure of speech. Not something that actually happens.

He lived an extraordinary life- there is no questioning that fact. You could find him in South America or Africa, trekking in Nepal, standing in the middle of Tahrir square during a revolution. It was a life well lived, Casey. Hats off to you. It was standing-ovation worthy.

We are all left stunned. I even catch myself feeling angry that he would manage to let that happen. I want to yell at you, Casey! But those are only the sentiments of those who have been left here, sadly without your devious smile. I don’t know who else is going to dance around to M.I.A. in my Cairo apartment or get me into the craziness that is Nicki Minaj. Who else will walk through Tahrir square, when it is full of Islamists, buy a walking stick and then start acting like they are Moses? And countless other ridiculous stories…

Well, here we are, trying to put some words to how we feel. Trying to understand something that is not understandable.

It is probably just as simple as this: I love you Casey. And I am going to miss the hell out of you. 

This is Supposed to be about Bora Bora

Ok, so it has been about one and a half years since I wrote in this blog. It just sat up there in cyber space, still in existence, waiting for some attention. Wanting to be something worthwhile for me to spend my time on. Hoping to not be another abandoned project.

Well, I have been busy- soul crushingly busy- where your mind is always too tired to wrap around anything significant for an extended period of time. What did I do with my spare time? Play Final Fantasy. Watch Downton Abbey, Game of Thrones, and Sherlock. Stare at the wall. Wait for the days to pass. Aside from a personal journal that reads more like a laundry list of activities, I haven’t had the desire or energy to write anything about anything.

But that time has ended. Things have happened. Tables have turned- I won Willy Wonka’s golden ticket. I’m actually going to get to do everything that I want- fuse a military career with academia and spend the rest of my career in the ivory tower. My other half and pack of puppies should be joining me in the same household at some point this year- something we have been wanting now for three years. There is finally a light at the end of the tunnel. Now, my biggest decision is trying to figure out whether to accept my admission into George Washington or American for my History MA- do I keep with the Middle East, Arabic, and Egypt and stay in my swim lane, or do I branch out into something totally different? But enough about all this. What I really wanted to write about was Bora Bora:

I am writing at the Bora Bora airport, where you can sit on the dock or lay at the beach as you wait for your flight. There is no parking lot here because the only way to get here from the main island is via boat. When you arrive, the hotels pick you up in their personal boats, put lays around your neck, and drive you to your lodging in utter paradise. I’ve never seen so many shades of blue in the ocean- but this is of course what everyone knows about Bora Bora- it is as dope as it gets really.

On to more interesting topics- like what exactly is the relationship between French Polynesia and France? I mean, it is literally on the other side of the world but still listed under some interesting title that translates as “overseas collective.” They have their own currency, own flag, and apparently representation in French parliament. So is this another country or is this France? Ah, delicious colonialism. And, of utmost importance, does this count as another country on the travel log? After my 6 days here, the issue still seems as ambiguous as it was when I arrived.

During your time in Bora Bora (ours was predominantly spent at the Sofitel private island) you are immersed in pure beauty and luxury- which meant that after 24 hours I was itching to discover what lay beyond the walls of the resorts. It was as expected- the developing world smell of burning trash and poverty hits you as soon as you exit the oasis. It isn’t terrible by any means, but there is a stark disparity between the lives of the locals and the resorts in which they work- then you notice the lack of diversity amongst the hotel guests- who is it in the world that predominantly has the ability to vacation to Bora Bora? Obviously, right? Moving on- stray dogs and chickens are scattered alongside the one main road and houses that line it. The dogs seem content and friendly enough. We wonder amongst ourselves if every person born in Bora Bora ultimately goes into the tourism industry. How many people have never left the island? What kind of education do the kids get here? Is this entire place actually immoral when it comes to pure economic disparity? There is nothing new about these questions- I have asked some form of them countless times in countless locations. I wonder if I will ever come to my own satisfactory answer about it all. But I know, underneath the layers of all the conflicted emotions, that there is something fundamentally wrong.

All this being said, it does not mean that people seem unhappy or angry. Actually, I am not sure I was there long enough to determine anything about what they are or how they feel. Humans are complicated. People wave to eachother as their boats cross in the lagoon. The hotel boat captain swerves the boat so that the local kids can play in its wake on their canoe. Everyone laughs and seems moderately content with the world. I mean, this isn’t Cairo where you have thousands of people who literally live in graveyards. The seasons never change. Every day in Bora Bora is much like the last- to the ire of the foreign hotel employees who sound like they regard their time working in Bora Bora as a sort of deployment. Unless you are engaged in some sort of water sport very little recreational activities are available. As far as we could judge from our ventures “out into town,” a lot of sitting around seems to be the thing.

So, yes I went jet skiing, snorkeling in amazing coral, diving, read a couple books, ate delicious French and island cuisine, and spent time at the spa. My tan is excellent and I feel far more relaxed than I have in some time. The vacation was nothing short of astounding and lived up to every expectation that we had for it- but that doesn’t mean I still don’t wander about with my usual ambivalence. That’s just me. :)