Walking away from Lost last night the air that followed me in my slow walk home was perfect, calm, temperatureless. I felt a little like that when the 2.5 hour series finale ended. Temperatureless. I thought I was going to have an emotional breakdown afterwards, cry and snot all over Liz and the rest I watched it with. But I remained calm, not unlike Desmond does throughout his seeking out of the rest of the Oceanic survivors (or non-survivors!!), like we all should throughout life. I held Liz’s hand a few times, grabbed Kelly’s knee once or twice, but I think that’s what Lost may have been trying to say in the end: sometimes we need to hold hands with each other, touch each other’s knees, eat fish biscuits while stuck in a cage to survive.
Expectations may have been unreachable for our dear prodigies, Jeffrey Lieber, J.J. Abrams, and Damon Lindelof. We all may still be left confused, flabbergasted, asking what happened to Bernard and Rose and why Michael and Walt weren’t in the multi-religion church at the end, and whether Jack will start his life on the island all over again now that he is laying near the white shoe in the bamboo forest like he did in the very first episode, but that’s okay. We should be okay with the fact that there are still questions because there will always be answerless questions, or questions that we have to answer on our own, in the quiet spaces of our souls. Where do they go in the end? They go wherever it is that you want them to go. Was it religious? If you’re religious, sure: it’s religious. If you’re not, it’s not.
I think I learned more from Lost than I had originally set out to on that fateful evening when I watched the pilot. I re-confirmed that past lives can exist, that the most important thing in our lives is the people who we share it with, who shape us, that you can look into someone’s eyes after just meeting them and see that you've known them, you've met them before, that you're the same as you always were and always will be, while at the same time ever changing with the landscape of life, whether you’re on an island or a freighter, all the way sideways or flashing forward and back, we’re always constant, always here, now.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Thailand, In My Heart
Three years ago today, I was sleeping in a big yellow bed with a white insect net around me, peaceful as a princess. The bed was in a room, the room in a house, the house on a street, in a city, in a country that would forever change me. I didn’t know this, sleeping in the 90 degree heat, my kneepits sweating and my hair tight and wet around my forehead. I didn’t know that the place would make such an impression. I made friends there, learned a different way of speaking, a different way to hold my silverware, and a different way to drink beer (with ice!). I taught children there, and the children taught me. I fell for the attitude there, and the beauty and the smiles and the generosity of the people who live there. And today, and for every day since the time I was there, these people are in danger. Bat Lee, Poochoy Wichien, Pee-Oy, Barry, Colm, the boys on the basketball court, Pee Wee, Pee Mee, May, Mai, Sand, Ing, Force, Earth, Chacha, Jump, Jane, and all of the rest of them, all of the people who I encountered, all of the people who served me tantalizing cuisine on the side of the dusty roads, everyone who rented kayaks to me, everyone who sang karaoke to me, bowled with me, ching’ching’d with me, my heart is with you. If you’re reading this and you pray, please pray for them. If you cross your fingers and toes, do. If you sing in the shower, do it for them. If you send vibes or whistle into the dark, do it for my Thai family. They would do it for you, in a heartbeat.
In honor of Thailand, I’ll leave you with a journal entry I wrote a few weeks into my yearlong stay… my first trip of about 2 dozen to Bangkok.
***
An afternoon in Bang Kok. As the 13 Baht (roughly 30 cents) train snaked and squealed its way out of Chachoengsao (my city), though the lush, green farmlands, and eventually to the outer mud piles of Thailand's capital, I began to question the work ethic of the municipal laborers. Maybe they all forgot to stop for coffee this morning, or maybe they were on some sort of Spanish schedule where everyone gets a siesta around mid day, but it is quite certain that these people were not working. And why would they want to? Re-arranging piles of mud mixed with plastic bottles, old shoes, dog feces, and other indistinguishable trash sounds much less enjoyable than a nap. One man lay in a hammock suspended from the rails along the top of the bed of his pickup. Others squatted amid scraps of cement (which I assume are what will eventually become pillars for bridges and highway interpasses), sucking on cigarettes and cokes. I wondered how long those piles had been sitting there, and also, how long these men had been squatting for?
As the train neared the city even more, it clamored past scrap metal houses seeping into the mud. Children played barefoot on dilapidated swing sets and waved to the travelers on the train whizzing by. Some searched for treasure hidden beneath the trashy mud piles, and some chased their friends and siblings along the glass-bottled/graveled train tracks. ...I thought back to the soundly architectured wooden swing set of my childhood. Set in a glistening sandbox and placed in the corner of our acre-large yard next to the garden and alongside the massive field of grass, it entertained me until I became too heavy for the monkey bars, until I got one too many slivers, until dinner was called...The differences make me shudder.
We managed to orient ourselves when we finally got off the train, Lonely Planet guide book clutched in our sweaty hands. "If we're standing here, and that fountain is there, then that must lead to a street that leads to the place we want to go." Ahh, the refreshing confusion of setting foot in a new foreign city. There's nothing like it. This foreign city, though, proved to be quite different than the seemingly pristine London, Oslo, and Paris that I had traipsed a few years back. This foreign city is large, loud, and imposing. The streets are clogged with an incessant traffic jam, and my contacts dried up instantly as the polluted air closed in on my eyes. The buildings once were all white, but it rains so much in Thailand, they are all stained with brown drippings and black soot. After about a mile and a half of squeezing ourselves though the sidewalk hugged with kneeling vendors selling glorified junk, we arrived at the city's historical centre, our destination.
We encountered many amazing temples and gardens which starkly contrasted those dilapidated tin huts on the outskirts and rain-stained apartment complexes on the walk over. Buildings sparkling with whites, reds, and golds-and people bustling around, stopping at each one to "wai" (bow with closed hands), and carry on. We realized that we were there on Buddha's birthday, May 31, and we were at the centre of the celebration. Every other person wore an orange cloth wrapped around their body, their freshly shaved heads glinting in the pouring sunlight. Today, in this part of Bang Kok, you are either a monk or you are a devout Buddhist.....or an American holding tightly to your guide book and snapping fervently at your camera.
In honor of Thailand, I’ll leave you with a journal entry I wrote a few weeks into my yearlong stay… my first trip of about 2 dozen to Bangkok.
***
An afternoon in Bang Kok. As the 13 Baht (roughly 30 cents) train snaked and squealed its way out of Chachoengsao (my city), though the lush, green farmlands, and eventually to the outer mud piles of Thailand's capital, I began to question the work ethic of the municipal laborers. Maybe they all forgot to stop for coffee this morning, or maybe they were on some sort of Spanish schedule where everyone gets a siesta around mid day, but it is quite certain that these people were not working. And why would they want to? Re-arranging piles of mud mixed with plastic bottles, old shoes, dog feces, and other indistinguishable trash sounds much less enjoyable than a nap. One man lay in a hammock suspended from the rails along the top of the bed of his pickup. Others squatted amid scraps of cement (which I assume are what will eventually become pillars for bridges and highway interpasses), sucking on cigarettes and cokes. I wondered how long those piles had been sitting there, and also, how long these men had been squatting for?
As the train neared the city even more, it clamored past scrap metal houses seeping into the mud. Children played barefoot on dilapidated swing sets and waved to the travelers on the train whizzing by. Some searched for treasure hidden beneath the trashy mud piles, and some chased their friends and siblings along the glass-bottled/graveled train tracks. ...I thought back to the soundly architectured wooden swing set of my childhood. Set in a glistening sandbox and placed in the corner of our acre-large yard next to the garden and alongside the massive field of grass, it entertained me until I became too heavy for the monkey bars, until I got one too many slivers, until dinner was called...The differences make me shudder.
We managed to orient ourselves when we finally got off the train, Lonely Planet guide book clutched in our sweaty hands. "If we're standing here, and that fountain is there, then that must lead to a street that leads to the place we want to go." Ahh, the refreshing confusion of setting foot in a new foreign city. There's nothing like it. This foreign city, though, proved to be quite different than the seemingly pristine London, Oslo, and Paris that I had traipsed a few years back. This foreign city is large, loud, and imposing. The streets are clogged with an incessant traffic jam, and my contacts dried up instantly as the polluted air closed in on my eyes. The buildings once were all white, but it rains so much in Thailand, they are all stained with brown drippings and black soot. After about a mile and a half of squeezing ourselves though the sidewalk hugged with kneeling vendors selling glorified junk, we arrived at the city's historical centre, our destination.
We encountered many amazing temples and gardens which starkly contrasted those dilapidated tin huts on the outskirts and rain-stained apartment complexes on the walk over. Buildings sparkling with whites, reds, and golds-and people bustling around, stopping at each one to "wai" (bow with closed hands), and carry on. We realized that we were there on Buddha's birthday, May 31, and we were at the centre of the celebration. Every other person wore an orange cloth wrapped around their body, their freshly shaved heads glinting in the pouring sunlight. Today, in this part of Bang Kok, you are either a monk or you are a devout Buddhist.....or an American holding tightly to your guide book and snapping fervently at your camera.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Super Farangs
There were about 6 other Westerners in our rugged little town, each from different corners of the western world. Terra, from Pennsylvania, was the only other female. She and I became friends immediately, and it was not long after that that I realized she was absolutely insane, but so was I so we got along quite well... David, from Holland, became a close friend too – I am forever indebted to him because he introduced me to the Avett Brothers. Then there were a couple of loud assholes from England, an amazing Irish bloke named Colm, who I looked to for guidance throughout the year, and then a few rambunctious Aussies too. All of the men had Thai girlfriends or wives, and we all hung out at an outdoor bar called Sun & Moon at night, playing cards and listening to live acoustic music. It was at Sun & Moon that David, Terra and I got the idea to join up and start to play music together. We called ourselves the Super Farangs. (Farang means "foreigner" in Thai).
We met on Wednesday nights on Terra’s porch which was surrounded by the sweet, dripping heat of Thai evenings, vibrantly colored flowers, buzzing insects, and never-ending green vines. The three of us sat at a table made of blue and white tiles, covered in bowls of fruit, dried wax from candles, and cigarette ash. The neighbors’ cats would sleepily wander over and sit at our feet as we drank Beer Singha and studied the lyrics that Terra had printed out. The first song I learned was Backwards With Time, and that became our staple song. David played guitar, Terra used whatever she had around her to keep the beat, sometimes she’d bust out a cymbals for fun or a didgeridoo, and somehow they had the confidence in me to sing. We’d get better as the nights wore on, as the beer rolled down my throat my volume raised and my shyness diminished. Under the flickering Christmas lights, we made some pretty great music together at that table. We played Avett pretty much exclusively, sometimes throwing a Beatles medley in randomly when I requested it – sometimes you just need to belt out Rocky Raccoon in it’s entirety, what can I say?
After about a month of this fooling around, we got serious and set up a date to play at the Sun & Moon. I remember how nervous I was, and then how easy it was once I was up there. The majority of the people there were Thai and didn’t understand a word we sang, but all of our Farang friends were there, smiling and raising their glasses to us as we played.
We met on Wednesday nights on Terra’s porch which was surrounded by the sweet, dripping heat of Thai evenings, vibrantly colored flowers, buzzing insects, and never-ending green vines. The three of us sat at a table made of blue and white tiles, covered in bowls of fruit, dried wax from candles, and cigarette ash. The neighbors’ cats would sleepily wander over and sit at our feet as we drank Beer Singha and studied the lyrics that Terra had printed out. The first song I learned was Backwards With Time, and that became our staple song. David played guitar, Terra used whatever she had around her to keep the beat, sometimes she’d bust out a cymbals for fun or a didgeridoo, and somehow they had the confidence in me to sing. We’d get better as the nights wore on, as the beer rolled down my throat my volume raised and my shyness diminished. Under the flickering Christmas lights, we made some pretty great music together at that table. We played Avett pretty much exclusively, sometimes throwing a Beatles medley in randomly when I requested it – sometimes you just need to belt out Rocky Raccoon in it’s entirety, what can I say?
After about a month of this fooling around, we got serious and set up a date to play at the Sun & Moon. I remember how nervous I was, and then how easy it was once I was up there. The majority of the people there were Thai and didn’t understand a word we sang, but all of our Farang friends were there, smiling and raising their glasses to us as we played.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The History of Love (Thirteen by Ben Kweller)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-gZ9s8CjIg&feature=youtube_gdata
The amazing thing about Thirteen is that there isn't a refrain, and I love that. Because it's true: life doesn't ever have breaks where old lines are repeated. It keeps rolling, the words keep spilling and the things keep happening, and we rarely are able to truly have a refrain.
We've been in the rain
We've been on the mountain
We've been round the fire
In fancy hotels
Drank water from farm wells
We sang with the choir
I kissed your dry lips
We jumped off the high cliffs
And splashed down below
Skin to skin
In the salty river
Made love in the shadow
Read books to each other
Read the mind of the other
Flew one thousand miles
We laughed and we cried
At movies and real life
In our ridiculous beds
We danced in the moonlight at midnight
We pressed against back doors and wood floors
And you never faked it
And frequently, We ignored our love
But we could never mistake it
We met on the front porch
Fell in love on the phone
Without the physical wreck
You gave me the necklace
That used to hang, Around your mothers neck,
We questioned religions
Fed bread to the pigeons
We learned how to pray
We stood by the ocean
Turned our hearts in to one,
We laid in bed all day
We skipped on the sidewalk
Skipped stones on the water
We skipped town
We've seen the sunrise with new eyes
We've seen the damage of gossip and true lies
We've seen the sun go down
Had passionate makeouts
And passionate freakouts
We built a world of our own
It was in the back of a taxi
When you told me you loved me
And that I wasnt alone
The amazing thing about Thirteen is that there isn't a refrain, and I love that. Because it's true: life doesn't ever have breaks where old lines are repeated. It keeps rolling, the words keep spilling and the things keep happening, and we rarely are able to truly have a refrain.
We've been in the rain
We've been on the mountain
We've been round the fire
In fancy hotels
Drank water from farm wells
We sang with the choir
I kissed your dry lips
We jumped off the high cliffs
And splashed down below
Skin to skin
In the salty river
Made love in the shadow
Read books to each other
Read the mind of the other
Flew one thousand miles
We laughed and we cried
At movies and real life
In our ridiculous beds
We danced in the moonlight at midnight
We pressed against back doors and wood floors
And you never faked it
And frequently, We ignored our love
But we could never mistake it
We met on the front porch
Fell in love on the phone
Without the physical wreck
You gave me the necklace
That used to hang, Around your mothers neck,
We questioned religions
Fed bread to the pigeons
We learned how to pray
We stood by the ocean
Turned our hearts in to one,
We laid in bed all day
We skipped on the sidewalk
Skipped stones on the water
We skipped town
We've seen the sunrise with new eyes
We've seen the damage of gossip and true lies
We've seen the sun go down
Had passionate makeouts
And passionate freakouts
We built a world of our own
It was in the back of a taxi
When you told me you loved me
And that I wasnt alone
Major Surprises and Monster Hugs
I wasn’t where I was supposed to be this weekend, wasn’t where I said I’d be. Each scene was from a movie. With sneaky accomplices here and there, I found some people I love dearly and unabashedly and flipped their hearts around a bit.
The Yukon felt more like a boat than it ever has, gliding across the flooded highway down to Milwaukee in a thrashing thunderstorm. I arrived at The Knick, shook the rain from my hair, ordered a Miller (yes!), strolled over to the dark corner where Lindsay laughed with friends. Eyes connect. Take. Double take. Triple take. “She’s not supposed to be here!!” I laugh, move closer in for a hug. “She’s not supposed to be here, she’s supposed to be in New York, she’s supposed to ohhh maayy Gahhd.” [Not unlike our favorite SNL scenes.] She told me about her new house that will be a home with a yard and a fireplace and bathrooms and floors and walls and oh my God we’re getting old. She told me about her new puppy who will play under the Willow trees that we used to daydream under together as young girls, and we toasted to the future.
I parallel parked perfectly for someone who drives about thrice a year, each tire exactly 6 inches from the curb, 10 inches from the cars in front and behind, on Prospect and Lafayette. I sprinted across to the tall brick building through the torrent of rain, buzzed MARINO/SHULEKEVITZ and slowly walked up the stairs as she slowly creaked open her door. It must have started raining inside because Nina’s cheeks became as wet as mine were. She was in her work-out clothes, and her strangling, shaking hug smelled like cheese and garlic; she was in a storm of cooking as usual. “I’m getting ready for my Kentucky Derby party tomor—WHAT are you doing here?!?” She slid her socks around the kitchen, trying to organize the dips and the sauces and the glasses, touching everything because she didn’t know what to do. We calmed ourselves, had a Spotted Cow, and probably hugged about 13 times.
I walked in to Flannerys, which didn’t used to have dance floor but now does, squeezed through the Wisconsin Badger t-shirts and the Brewers caps, and caught the eye of Mr. Jeff Christ. Jeff dropped his bejoweled jaw and tapped Adam on the shoulder. Adam, who was donning both an old Bucks jersey and a new, gave me that shy smile and looked around to see how he could get through the masses to me. They were both macking on ladies at the time, and I had no place in interrupting, so I spent a few minutes defending my purse to a guy who thought it was way too big. The boys and I found one another soon enough and three-way hugged, they said they thought I was teasing them when they got my text asking what they were up to tonight. We toasted to high school and jumped up on the dance floor to get down to “I’m on a Boat.”
I rode my dad’s bike over to Paul & Joanne’s house, parked it behind one of their massive cars, and walked slowly up their flowery path. My empty arms became full when Paul opened the door, saying “What the…” over and over and hugging me, saying “I thought you were a Jehovahs Witness!” Well, far from it. Just a New York auntie surprise. Little Bubby was so excited and surprised to see me that he shat himself, which was so fun! Bubby’s working on his B sounds, discovering how amazing hands are and waiting patiently for his teeth, and mommy and daddy are falling in love all over again watching one another be the perfect parent.
When we got the signal that Colleen and Gianni had arrived at their engagement party, Paul and I walked up the road to the house, slowly and carefully, like Bambi’s brother and sister. Of course, the aunts drove past, waving out the window, tears in their eyes, “Look at you! Look at you!”
We slowly walked around to the backyard, on a lawn lush and green beneath my feet, (Hello Wisconsin!) up to where Colleen stood, squeezing her friends’ baby’s cheeks. She smiled and waved when she saw Paul, assuming he was with his wife, and then looked through her sunglasses, tipped down on her nose, at me… Screamed my name in the same way I had imagined it. A shrill cry of love, of sisterhood, of surprise. The circle of friends and family around us held up their glasses as my sister, my best friend, hugged me harder and longer than she ever had in our lives together. Harder than the times when we’d sleep in the same bunk bed after a Bernstein Bear story and she’d hug me goodnight. Harder than the times we’d stay at in a hotel room and I asked if I could sleep with her because Paul had convinced us that there were antelope in the closet. Harder than the times when we needed each other more than anyone else when our mommy was gone. Harder than she hugged me when I came into her room with that “something … happened … in my undies” kind of look. Harder than she hugged me when I fell in love for the first time, or when I needed her to save me from love time and time again. This was a real sister hug, solid and strong. “LIL’ LISAAAAAH” I heard from behind me, as my new brother-in-law came over with a huge grin on his face, squeezing me until I couldn’t breathe. Success.
The Yukon felt more like a boat than it ever has, gliding across the flooded highway down to Milwaukee in a thrashing thunderstorm. I arrived at The Knick, shook the rain from my hair, ordered a Miller (yes!), strolled over to the dark corner where Lindsay laughed with friends. Eyes connect. Take. Double take. Triple take. “She’s not supposed to be here!!” I laugh, move closer in for a hug. “She’s not supposed to be here, she’s supposed to be in New York, she’s supposed to ohhh maayy Gahhd.” [Not unlike our favorite SNL scenes.] She told me about her new house that will be a home with a yard and a fireplace and bathrooms and floors and walls and oh my God we’re getting old. She told me about her new puppy who will play under the Willow trees that we used to daydream under together as young girls, and we toasted to the future.
I parallel parked perfectly for someone who drives about thrice a year, each tire exactly 6 inches from the curb, 10 inches from the cars in front and behind, on Prospect and Lafayette. I sprinted across to the tall brick building through the torrent of rain, buzzed MARINO/SHULEKEVITZ and slowly walked up the stairs as she slowly creaked open her door. It must have started raining inside because Nina’s cheeks became as wet as mine were. She was in her work-out clothes, and her strangling, shaking hug smelled like cheese and garlic; she was in a storm of cooking as usual. “I’m getting ready for my Kentucky Derby party tomor—WHAT are you doing here?!?” She slid her socks around the kitchen, trying to organize the dips and the sauces and the glasses, touching everything because she didn’t know what to do. We calmed ourselves, had a Spotted Cow, and probably hugged about 13 times.
I walked in to Flannerys, which didn’t used to have dance floor but now does, squeezed through the Wisconsin Badger t-shirts and the Brewers caps, and caught the eye of Mr. Jeff Christ. Jeff dropped his bejoweled jaw and tapped Adam on the shoulder. Adam, who was donning both an old Bucks jersey and a new, gave me that shy smile and looked around to see how he could get through the masses to me. They were both macking on ladies at the time, and I had no place in interrupting, so I spent a few minutes defending my purse to a guy who thought it was way too big. The boys and I found one another soon enough and three-way hugged, they said they thought I was teasing them when they got my text asking what they were up to tonight. We toasted to high school and jumped up on the dance floor to get down to “I’m on a Boat.”
I rode my dad’s bike over to Paul & Joanne’s house, parked it behind one of their massive cars, and walked slowly up their flowery path. My empty arms became full when Paul opened the door, saying “What the…” over and over and hugging me, saying “I thought you were a Jehovahs Witness!” Well, far from it. Just a New York auntie surprise. Little Bubby was so excited and surprised to see me that he shat himself, which was so fun! Bubby’s working on his B sounds, discovering how amazing hands are and waiting patiently for his teeth, and mommy and daddy are falling in love all over again watching one another be the perfect parent.
When we got the signal that Colleen and Gianni had arrived at their engagement party, Paul and I walked up the road to the house, slowly and carefully, like Bambi’s brother and sister. Of course, the aunts drove past, waving out the window, tears in their eyes, “Look at you! Look at you!”
We slowly walked around to the backyard, on a lawn lush and green beneath my feet, (Hello Wisconsin!) up to where Colleen stood, squeezing her friends’ baby’s cheeks. She smiled and waved when she saw Paul, assuming he was with his wife, and then looked through her sunglasses, tipped down on her nose, at me… Screamed my name in the same way I had imagined it. A shrill cry of love, of sisterhood, of surprise. The circle of friends and family around us held up their glasses as my sister, my best friend, hugged me harder and longer than she ever had in our lives together. Harder than the times when we’d sleep in the same bunk bed after a Bernstein Bear story and she’d hug me goodnight. Harder than the times we’d stay at in a hotel room and I asked if I could sleep with her because Paul had convinced us that there were antelope in the closet. Harder than the times when we needed each other more than anyone else when our mommy was gone. Harder than she hugged me when I came into her room with that “something … happened … in my undies” kind of look. Harder than she hugged me when I fell in love for the first time, or when I needed her to save me from love time and time again. This was a real sister hug, solid and strong. “LIL’ LISAAAAAH” I heard from behind me, as my new brother-in-law came over with a huge grin on his face, squeezing me until I couldn’t breathe. Success.
I think they wrote this song for them: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iq4DsqiW2DI&feature=youtube_gdata
Remember this one? http://lcmattingly.blogspot.com/2009/04/they-stood.html
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