A Bowl of Stupid

Note: It’s funny how I get the most responses (I’m counting both here and privately) when I’m having a particularly bad time of things. That’s probably a good thing, as it means my friends and family, regardless of their location, are still looking out for my best interests. For that, I thank them. Truly. But try not to worry too much, as I stated in my last post (the one in question), I sometimes write simply to work things out in my own head, and they don’t necessarily reflect exactly what’s going on in my world.

In contrast to last week, which I spent both en route to and traveling around (Western) Samoa and where I had an overabundance of time and an under-abundance of electricity, I’m now located in my new home — American Samoa, where I’ve got computer access but lacking a bit on the time to write. I’ll try to remedy that (the time part, at least).

Given the challenges I went through to get here, I guess I should be happy to have even arrived — alive and in one piece (generally speaking).

By the time I first arrived on island, I hadn’t showered or slept for over 2.5 days, I was suffering from heat prostration, sun poisoning, 300-400 mosquito bites, fever, serious ‘digestive issues,’ dehydration, over-exhaustion, and (last but not least) a severely swollen and infected leg that I’d seriously mangled on the reef in Samoa after only 3 days in the water. In short, I was an absolute mess (which, for those of you who know me, is really saying something).

Even discounting all those issues, I still just HAD to get out of Western Samoa — simply speaking, in any of the various worldwide shitholes where I’ve stayed, never before in my life have I paid so much for so little (example, at the surf camp I stayed on the south coast of Upolu, I paid US$45/night to sleep in an open air bungalow with no mosquito net, with lard and crackers as ‘breakfast,’ no running water, and where the family who runs the place returned home at dark, leaving me, the only guest, alone to contend with the local stray dogs all night).

Never has an island that subsists almost entirely on tourist dollars been less tourist-friendly than that one. And never before have I seen such “nickel-and-diming” to death as I did on Upolu. It was sad, especially considering I’d heard the independent side was the nicer of the two Samoa’s.

In contrast, I was worried about coming (and living) on the American side, reading wicked things about the state of affairs here on Tutuila. But so far (and I emphasize, “so far”), Pago Pago reminds me of a typical beautifully preserved colonial island town, similar to something that one might find somewhere in the Caribbean. It is … simply beautiful here.

And as the days go on, and as I’ve healed from my ordeal on the other side, and as I learn more about the place, the people, the opportunities here, and as I’ve obtained my own car, and apartment, and sense of wholeness again — I like it more and more every day.

Sure, there are issues — it’s small, it’s preternaturally hot, it’s obscenely wet, the people are massive, the cars (trucks) are massive, the meal portions are massive, and it has taken many of the lesser qualities from both American and Samoan cultures. But it’s also in the process of integrating many of the better ones too — the Rule of Law applies (generally), the Public Library is modern and brimming with media, there’s fresh local tuna and fruits, there’s a variety of foods, there’s a growing diversity of people (Samoan, Chinese, Filipino, Korean, Caucasian), there’s a sense of community, and there’s a positive, yet not unsightly, sense of pride in being American.

I haven’t even yet had the opportunity to do much of what I came here to do — hike, mountain bike, surf, swim, snorkel, SCUBA. But the scenery is absolutely gorgeous and I’m looking forward to seeing where the road here leads me …

I’m well aware that it’s still far too early to say, but I already feel a bit like Andy Dufresne – who crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side.

Much as I did when I first arrived in Asia, I’ve started writing again freehand, often without any intent to publish here, but simply to clarify what’s going on upstairs. This is one of those posts. And while it is obviously melancholic (to say the least), take it with a grain of salt, and take it for what it is — simply a free-wheeling dictation of what was going on in my mind at one particular point during this latest “adventure.” Like most things, it may change with the scenery.

28 Feb 2010; Apia, (Western) Samoa
Right after this gnawing ache in my gut –- the result (I hope) of something I ate in Bangkok right before I left — the next feeling I’ve got is an overwhelming desire to break down a little out of sheer frustration.

It turns out my sister may not have been right –- at one point during the past couple years (I’ve forgotten exactly when), she relayed to me a little bit of bumper-sticker profundity which, at the time, I found especially appropriate to my recent life choices.

In trying to understand our extremely different takes on life, she saw a quote that put into perspective my life, which until then was probably fairly incomprehensible to her compared to her suburban domesticity –- she told me that “not all those who wander are lost.”

I thought it wonderfully simplistic, and yet at the same time, delightfully profound. My ego agreed with her, telling me that I obviously have all the answers and I’m just traveling to satiate my desire for adventure. I told myself that that was, of course, the main reason why I chose to leave the States and wander throughout Asia for the better part of the 21st century.

However, now I’m starting to recognize just how wrong she, and I, was -– I am lost. I’ve been lost for a very long time, I suppose. And it’s only been my over-inflated ego and well-honed ability to live in denial that’s kept that fact from me for so long.

When I was younger, I held the undying belief that I would be a complete person when, and only if, I met ‘the one’ person who would be able to complete me. For that reason, I spent most of my 20’s moving from one dysfunctional relationship to the next, hoping the next girl I met would be “the one.”

After having the pleasure of getting that myth thrown back in my face with alarming force several years ago, I abandoned my search for ‘the one,’ knowing that the dream is nothing but a myth.

Instead, and without even knowing it, I transferred my obsession with perfection and happiness from a person to a place — if only I could find “the place” I would finally be happy, or at least content.

So I left Miami, and I keep moving all around the world –- Costa Rica, Singapore, Indonesia, Thailand — always in the hope that the next place I’d go would be “the place” for me. That it would all come together in one blinding shot of inspiration.

But it’s not been that easy. I’m starting to realized that is probably never is. Because no matter where I go, I’m always there –- and therefore, it’s always the same. And it’s always wrong.

Apparently, I’m still in a dysfunctional relationship, I’ve simply changed the unhealthy source of longing.

That aspect of my life is far too personal and complex to even begin discussing in earnest here. However, I will say that my search –- albeit unknowing – has left me weary. I am just so, so tired. I just want a place to call home. And that fatigue has led to frustration, which inevitably brings me to tears.

I want to go home. More to the point –- after so many years of moving about, I just want a home. It’s been so long since I’ve known exactly who I am, where I am, or where I will wind up even next week that I can barely tell the difference any more – one place looks just like another, only the weather and the languages change.

I’ve only just arrived, but already I sincerely doubt I’ll find what I am looking for here in Samoa. Shit, it’s a lush tropical paradise and yet I can hardly bring myself to leave my hot, sticky motel room. To me, it’s just another tropical preserve with people and customs to which I can’t fully relate. So really, what’s the point?

I am just so tired. And I just want to go home. If only I knew where that was …