A Bowl of Stupid

So much to explain, yet I still don’t know exactly where to begin — at least anywhere significantly different, except geographically speaking. I suppose the easiest place to begin is with the most obvious: I’m back in America.

As noted in prior posts, I left Bangkok over two (2) months ago now, right at the beginning of all the nonsense which has since engulfed Thailand in chaos, and now threatens to spiral out of control into a full-fledged civil war. Much like I saw the housing crisis back here in the States and cashed out / moved out before the storm reached it’s full intensity, so have I done with Thailand.

Fortunately or unfortunately, I found it relatively easy when I had to mentally and physically distance myself from my home country when the time came. Likewise, I found it almost disconcertingly easy to disconnect myself from Bangkok, which I loved as much as (if not more than) any other place I’ve lived. Now I am resigned only to hope for the best — just like every other outside observer.

After Thailand, my desire was to make a life for myself in the small, tropical wonderland of American Samoa. Specifically, an opportunity arose whereby I could live and work in Samoa for a short time, on a trial basis, and see if it suited me before committing further to the island. Unfortunately, things didn’t turn out the way I had anticipated, and after that 2 month “trial period” I left the island — most likely for good.

As I’ve mentioned previously, while admittedly small, the island of Tutuila itself is absolutely gorgeous — with tropical waterfalls, ubiquitous crystal-blue waters, soaring emerald-green volcanic mountains, and many lovely people. However, I would never be able to practice law, or conduct any business there, quite frankly, simply because the American Samoan Government is one of the most corrupt, nefarious, petty, and nepotistic organizations with which I have ever come into contact (which, including Mexico, Indonesia and Thailand, is really saying something).

My plan included returning to law in a relaxed, small-town, environment, which would allow me to also continue with my surfing and other pursuits, and also start a side-gig teaching yoga. During my two (2) months on Tutuila, I explored the beauty of the island, I arranged to start teaching yoga at a local gym, I re-immersed myself back into the practice of law, and I was also fortunate enough to meet some really great people. However, all of that positivity was tempered — no, absolutely nullified — by the sheer absurdity of trying to conduct business in the shadow of malfeasance and crookedness which is the American Samoan Government.

Which is a shame, because I could have made a life for myself there. Regardless, I saw the time had come for me to move on from Samoa. And, just as I was able to distance myself from every other place I’ve lived and loved, I left — again with a disturbing lack of fuss.

That was a couple weeks ago.

And where am I now? Now I’m back in Miami Beach, actually. Back in the same building in which I was living before I left. Granted, I’m now house-sitting for an old neighbor who generously lent me his condo for a couple weeks while he’s traveling. However, needless to say, after everyone I’ve met, after everywhere I’ve gone, and everything I’ve seen, and done, and been through since I left — I’m having more than just a slight difficulty re-acclimating. Indeed, I feel like Captain Willard at the start of Apocalypse Now:

When I was there, I wanted to be here; now I’m here, and all I can think of is getting back into the jungle. I’m here for weeks now … getting softer. Every minute I stay in this room, I get weaker. Each time I look around, the walls move in a little tighter.

Regardless … the point of this post was to point out, and put an end to, my journey. My sojourn. My multi-year vision quest.

I intended a bookend. But now, after writing all this out, I’m not sure. That is to say, although I’m back in the country of my birth, I am still very far from feeling “home.” Moreover, as the days move forward, it’s looking less and less likely that I’ll remain here in Florida, as the opportunities I came here for were apparently nothing more than seductive phantoms.

And so it seems I’ll soon be moving on … again. Despite the fact I still don’t know where I’m going. Or where I’ll wind up.

And while I want more than anything to stop having to write this goddamn blog, and to stay in one place for more than a couple fucking months at a time, and end this seemingly endless adventure (at least for long enough to catch my breathe) — apparently I still don’t have that option. Yet.

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 …

I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams. … I hope.

My intent upon initially leaving the States way back when was to engage in what I then called “The Bowl of Stupid World Tour” — a tour that started out in Singapore, made various pit-stops in Indonesia, Thailand and other bright and shiny destinations throughout Southeast Asia. From there, the tour made an unexpected stop in Boston, and would continue on through Sri Lanka and India, and eventually lead to various stops through Australia.

All of that was accomplished — and more.

The tour was also supposed to expand into and through the Pacific — to places like Guam, Palau, and Fiji. But somehow I never got there. Instead, like many people, I got trapped by the allures of Asia and, for the past 3-plus years, I wound up living in Bangkok, then Bali, and then back to Thailand — which is where I find myself today.

My intention upon returning to Bangkok was to make a life for myself here — in the past six (6) months, I’ve spent countless hours looking for work, making new friends, and networking with the Bangkok business community, all in the hopes that I would be able to find a paying job sufficient enough to allow me to stay here, perhaps indefinitely. Indeed, for all its faults and quirks and despite the fact that I constantly have to defend it to my friends back in the States who have a distorted view of the place, I love Bangkok very much. I really do. As do I love mostly all of Southeast Asia, the Buddhist way of thinking, and all the lovely people I’ve met here who have been gracious enough to let me into their lives, however briefly.

But like most things, permanence here is apparently not for me. My destination (if there is one), at this point seemingly lies elsewhere. I’ve not been able to find a decent job that would allow me to maintain even the minimalist lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed. So I’m leaving Thailand, and Asia — most likely never to return, except perhaps as a tourist.

I really don’t mean to come across as a drama queen. But my experiences here in Asia over the past several years have altered me in ways I previously thought unimaginable. As a result, the thought of leaving Asia for good is obviously a bit daunting. The world out here is truly wondrous — with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and gross. And I am also sorry to see this, yet another stage of my life, exiled to the relative oblivion of memories.

In contrast to that melancholy, I am also optimistic, since I’m returning to the original path that has been lost to me — I’m finally heading out into the Pacific. And I’m also returning to the practice of law. And I’m also heading back to the States (in a manner of speaking).

Less than two (2) days from now, I’m moving to American Samoa, the southernmost territory of the United States, with a total land mass about the size of Washington D.C., and a total population of approximately 70,000. I go there with the promise of a paying job, decent surf, tropical island breezes, a lush island paradise and, most importantly, relative peace and tranquility.

As usual, we’ll see how it plays out …